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THE STRANGE WOMAN 


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THE STRANGE WOMAN 


BY 

SIDNEY McCALL 

Author of “Truth Dexter,” “The Breath of the 
Gods,” “Ariadne of Allan Water,” etc. 

ADAPTED FROM WILLIAM J. HURLBUt’s PLAr 
OF THE SAME NAME 



NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
1914 


?Z 3 , 

■ p* 

Str^ ' 



Copyright, 1914 

By DODD MEAD & COMPANY 



J 

NOV 20 1914 


©GI.A388476*^ 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I At Dawn . 1 

II Jack Turns His Back Upon Delphi and Its 

Sparrows . . 17 

III The “ Send-off ” at the Station .... 31 

IV Sunday in Paris . 45 

V .What Befell John at Robinson’s ... 56 

VI Whistler’s Portrait of His Mother ... 71 

VII John Enters into an Agreement .... 87 

VHI John Makes a Call 102 

IX John Enters a Life-class 117 

X The First Lesson 130 

XI John Receives a Letter and Meets a Friend 142 
XII On the Threshold of Victory 155 

XIII Inez Plays Hostess . 167 

XIV Twin Stars and — the Pit 180 

XV Charlie Gives Advice . 191 

XVI Changes . . .204 

XVII John Goes Home . . 215 

XVIII Readjustments 228 

XIX Inez in Delphi 239 

XX The Delphi Theme — In Variations . . . 252 

XXI Delphi Decides to Call, and Inez Makes a 

Friend . 267 

XXII Dr. Kelsey 281 

XXIII What Charlie Did not Tell 296 

XXIV “Your Sins Have Found You Out!” . . . 308 

XXV “ Free Love ” as Interpreted by Delphi . . 325 

XXVI At Bay . 346 

XXVII Sackcloth — with a Silver Lining . . . 366 



CHAPTER I 


AT DAWN 

Young John Hemingway awoke, on this particular 
May morning, with the first drowsy click of the first 
sparrow. Consciousness, on the instant, clasped 
him. It was as if he had suddenly been immersed in 
water. He wondered, a little impatiently, that he 
had been able to sleep at all. How could he, when 
this was his Great Day, his Golden Threshold, the 
beginning of the Adventure with all that it might 
come to mean ! 

Dawn, a square grey cloth, hung at his window. 
Behind it now more sparrows stirred, — myriads of 
them, — in a shrill clamour. Their thin voices 
sounded querulous, almost angry. 

And all the mornings to come, — for four blessed 
years, they are to wake and chirp like this,” the man 
thought. What do they know or care about Paris ; 
or the fact that, at last, I am to go ? ” 

Pressing down into his piUow, he gave himself up, 
deliberately, to the luxury of anticipation. 

For years, ever since his college days at the state 
university, and afterward, as he doubtfully, yet with 
energy, perpetrated various architectural wrongs 
upon his native town, the thought of Paris had been 
his goal, his great incentive. Unlike his fellow 
1 


2 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


architects, he grew steadily more dissatisfied with the 
sort of work he found himself forced to do. The 
new City Hall of Delphi, in spite of its inception at 
the hands of a well-known Chicago architect, did not 
loom up before him as an object for pride and re- 
joicing. He felt, vaguely, that it was dispropor- 
tionate and ugly, that the colours of the dust-hued 
granite and the hard red bricks made an arid con- 
trast, but his training had not been of the kind to 
make these visual faults statable. His profession 
had become the great, dominating factor in his life, 
second only to the love of the quiet little mother who 
tried so hard to understand his aesthetic repinings 
and was so pathetically anxious to assist him in gain- 
ing that broader outlook which, especially of late, 
he had begun to feel a necessity. 

At college he had heard, of course, of the !Ecole 
des Beaux Arts. To his untutored imagination the 
whole of Paris was a sort of modern Olympus, 
crowned and immortalised by a single temple, — a 
white and shining place of long cool corridors, and 
happy busy minds, — to which good young architects, 
— even from a place so far away as Delphi, Iowa, — 
were sometimes privileged to go. Already he was 
well past the age of the average student. He had 
tried, conscientiously, to adapt himself to Delplii 
taste and Delphi standards, but somewhere within 
him was a protest that would not be stilled. 

His mother, one of those shy, intuitive souls who, 
where love is concerned, know everything without 


AT DAWN 


S 

asking a single question, soon perceived the facts, 
and from that moment went quietly to work, with 
the one motive of “ sending J ohn to Paris.” 

The death of her husband, now many years ago, 
had left Emma Hemingway what her neighbours de- 
scribed as “ comfortably off.” She had a large 
two-story town-house, a reasonable amount of life- 
insurance safely invested, one small business build- 
ing in a rather poor part of the city, and, in addi- 
tion, a farm six miles out into the country, which 
had been inherited from her own people. The ren- 
tal of this farm made, to her income, the differ- 
ence between a mere living and the aforesaid 
comfort.” 

Now, without so much as a hint to her son, she 
sold it outright and it was this money, ten thousand 
dollars in cash and interest-bearing notes, which a 
few weeks before, she had put into John’s hands, mak- 
ing the offering as casually as if she were passing 
him a cup of tea, and saying, with her gentle smile. 
Here are the four years in Paris, John.” 

Yes, he was going! Nothing could hold him back 
now. His railway ticket was bought, and his trunks 
packed. Even his passage on the big trans-Atlantic 
steamer was secure. Four years ! Four wonderful 
golden, busy years, packed full and crowded down 
with opportunity. When he stepped aboard the 
nine-thirty train that very morning, he would be 
entering on his Kingdom. 

He closed his eyes in the sheer ecstasy of vision. 


4 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Again rose the shining Acropolis, the Temple of 
Beautiful Arts ! Clustered beneath its supernal 
walls were lesser glories, such as the Louvre, the grey 
imp-set towers of Notre Dame, and the enamelled 
jewel-casket of Saint Chappelle. Somewhere among 
the ‘‘ roots of things ” flowed a grey river with the 
sun upon it. That would be the Seine. To think 
that he, John Hemingway, who had never been east 
of Chicago, was soon to stand upon one of those 
historic bridges, dreaming above the Seine! 

There was something the boys ” called the Latin 
Quarter. Their eyes always danced at the name. 
But he felt little interest in this view of Paris. It 
was suitable enough, he conceded, for the harlequin- 
ade of near-artists and near-singers who, appar- 
ently, made up its population, but would have few 
allurements from an architect of the Middle West, 
— especially an architect with a Purpose, — not to 
mention a Mother. 

Paris ! I am actually going to Paris, and I 
start to-day,” he said aloud. The morning seemed 
to shiver at his words. 

Paris, for four whole years,” he repeated. 

And I am leaving mother utterly alone.” 

A penetrating chill crept in through the thinning 
curtain of the dawn. All the gladness went from his 
face. He moved restlessly, and reached down to 
pull a coverlid over him. 

“ Suppose something should happen to her in 


AT DAWN 5 

your absence ? ” a cold voice whispered. ‘‘ What 
would success mean to you then.'^ ” 

He sat up quickly, flinging one vigorous young 
limb, half-swathed in clinging blankets, to the floor. 
To lie there longer and think, was impossible. He 
would be up, and dress himself. Before the second 
foot could reach the old rag carpet a second thought 
checked him. 

His mother’s room was directly beneath. If he 
turned on the water for his bath, — and by now his 
whole body had begun to clamour for the invigorat- 
ing plunge, — she would hear him. 

Plumbing, even in large cities, is a precarious art. 
In Delphi the bathroom pipes had all acquired a spe- 
cies of banshee howl, intensifying with age. The 
turning of a faucet on the second floor invariably 
released sleeping demons, so that the reluctantly as- 
cending water was apparently pursued by a spiral 
mob of objurgations. 

The early morning mist clutched at his bare an- 
kles, With a sigh of disappointment he was with- 
drawing them into the bed when a very slight sound 
from the chamber below arrested him. He listened, 
leaning tensely forward. It was a window being 
opened very softly. 

“ Mother, God bless her ! ” he cried. “ She can’t 
sleep either ! ” 

He sprang up, and now that caution was not 
needed, rushed across the floor. At the window-sill 


6 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


he leaned out until the two old-fashioned fasteners, 
perkily upright like miniature croquet wickets, thrust 
themselves upward into his straining flesh and, for 
days after, kept their memory in blue bruises. 

“ Mother ! That you ? ” he asked, in the vibrant 
whisper which carries better than open speech. 

“ John ! ” came the quick reply, muffled also, that 
the neighbours might not be disturbed, but tremulous 
with surprise and joy. 

“ I might have known that you could not sleep, 
either,” the upper voice triumphed. “ I’m going to 
take a plunge now, — this minute. Then I’ll run 
down to you. ’Spose we have a cup of coffee, — just 
you and me, — before the girl comes.” 

‘‘ That will be lovely. I’ll slip on my wrapper 
and start the water boiling. I just couldn’t stay in 
bed. I was too — too — excited ! ” 

Same here. Oh, Mother! ” There was a sud- 
den note of despair. 

Mrs. Hemingway vanished. John withdrew from 
the sill, and sped to his bath, where he turned on all 
the faucets with such feverish energy that howls, 
gurgles and wails, hitherto unsuspected, burst from 
the released element. 

In an incredibly short time he was downstairs. 
Already, in the kitchen, stood his mother, dressed in 
her habitual black with a white fichu at the throat, 
her silvery hair as complete and immaculate as the 
petals of the white roses that stood in a little jar on 
the oilcloth-covered table. Two of the ‘‘ good ” 


AT DAWN 


7 


china cups from the dining-room cabinet had been 
placed near the flowers ; and from the coflTee-pot on 
the stove came a warm, aromatic fragrance. 

At sight of the familiar little figure a queer con- 
striction, unlike anything before experienced, came 
into the young man’s throat. Unable to speak, he 
strode across the boards, lifted his mother bodily, 
and strained her against his heart. 

‘‘ My ! What a big boy you are ! ” she laughed, 
as soon as she could regain her breath. ‘‘ Even big- 
ger and stronger than your dear father,” she added 
softly, her brown eyes adoring him. 

Again came that odd constriction in the throat 
muscles. John scarcely remembered his dead father. 
He knew that the little mother’s love for him was of 
a stuflT as imperishable as the cameo pin she habitu- 
ally wore. Yet it was seldom, indeed, that she could 
speak directly of him, and this spontaneous, almost 
joyful exclamation showed very clearly the strained 
exaltation of her mood. Paris began to seem very 
far away, and peculiarly undesirable. 

Mrs. Hemingway patted his shoulder. Sit 
down, dear. The coflPee is ready to pour. See how 
the red day begins to show through the young maple 
leaves. I am so glad that it is to be a fine day ! ” 

John took his seat heavily. 

She caught a dish-towel from the rack near by, 
and hurrying over to the stove, returned with the hot 
coAFee. “ Smells good, doesn’t it.^^ ” she asked cheer- 
ily. Fortunately he could not see the quiver of her 


8 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


lips as she bent over the dark, bowed head. His 
hair, still wet from the bath, looked almost black, 
and was fashioned into thick little half-curls and 
wedges. Emma Hemingway did not trust herself, 
just then, to lean nearer. 

“ Look here. Mother ! ” he cried abruptly. “ I’ll 
have to cut it out, after all. I can’t leave you.” 

‘‘Now, John; take a good hot swallow of coffee 
and you’ll feel more like yourself.” 

John turned around, fixing tragic eyes upon her. 
“ But don’t you see, that’s just what I shouldn't feel 
like, — myself. I’m a selfish, blind brute. That’s 
what I’ve been all along. Somehow it’s come over 
me in a heap, — with this quiet dawn about us. I’ve 
let you sacrifice too much. Now it’s the farm, — 
your individual piece of property. I was a bone- 
head to let you know how I wanted these years of 
study in Paris.” 

“ You couldn’t have kept it from me, John,” she 
said, pouring the two cups of coffee with a steady 
hand. “Besides, who else would you have told.?^ 
Who cares as I do ? ” 

“ That’s just it ! You do care. All along you 
have cared too much, and I, like a mutt, have ac- 
cepted everything ! ” 

“ I won’t have you calling my boy such ugly 
names ! ” she protested, with a little laugh that it 
was hard to keep from breaking. “ There never was 
a better son than you, John. My ! but isn’t this the 
hottest coffee ! ” 


AT DAWN 


9 


John joined, a little ruefully, in her laughter. 
‘‘ You are one too many for me. Mother. You al- 
ways have been. Well, lift the cup. We’ll drink to 
Paris, — dam it ! ” 

They drank warily, the two smiling pairs of eyes 
meeting above the cup rims. 

“ Speaking of darns,” said the little mother, set- 
ting her cup down, ‘‘ I suppose the mails between here 
and Paris carry things besides letters, — don’t 
they ? ” 

John looked puzzled. What on earth could this 
very mild form of invective have to do with the inter- 
national postal service 

“ Why, of course ! ” 

Well, then — ” she began, — hesitated, and sud- 
denly turned an imploring look. “ Please don’t 
think me a silly, sentimental old mother, but there is 
a troublesome little favour I am going to ask of you.” 

“ Something that can be mailed.^ ” 

She nodded. 

Anything you want. Mother o’ mine, from 
weekly stock reports to the head of the French 
President on a charger.” 

‘‘ It’s nothing of that kind, you may be sure,” she 
smiled. It’s — it’s — I want you to send me back 
your socks to darn.” 

As, for the moment, he was incapable of utterance, 
she went on, still deprecatingly, 

“ I have always found them such a comfort. 
While you were off to college I believe my very hap- 


10 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


piest moments were spent over them. Do you know, 
John, I sometimes feel sorry for men because they 
can never have that peculiar quiet of mind, — that 
serenity, — that comes over you while you are sew- 
ing, especially when you are darning socks for some 
one that you love.” 

“ They shall come regularly. Mother. I prom- 
ise,” he said, speaking rather thickly, and reaching 
out for another gulp of coffee. 

“ And, John,” she added, now with more definite 
embarrassment. “ When you do have to buy new 
ones, don’t trouble to get them of too durable a qual- 
ity.” 

‘‘ There’s the old sun out of bed at last ! He’s got 
into my eyes, somehow,” cried J ohn, blinking toward 
the great red disc now appearing among the maple 
branches, and crossed, like a map of the canals of 
Mars, with black lines of twigs. 

Instead of following his tear-dimmed gaze, Emma 
Hemingway leaned forward, fixing her eyes on the 
illumined, up-turned face of her companion, as if to 
impress the memory forever on her heart. 

John fumbled for his pocket handkerchief, blew his 
nose vigorously, and then turned a smile to her. 

“ Well, the day is here all right. But we’ve had a 
wonderful little dawn-party all by our lonesomes, — 
haven’t we, Mother? ” 

“ Yes, — yes,^* she breathed. 

“ And you still Insist on sending me out into the 
big world to fight, and make you proud of me? ” 


AT DAWN 11 

“ To fight, yes. But I am already proud of you. 
There never was a better son, my John.” 

‘‘ Oh, Mother,” the man almost groaned. “ How 
could a fellow help being decent when somebody be- 
lieves in him as you do in me ? ” 

“ They don’t have to help it,” she answered prac- 
tically. 

“ All the same,” he retorted, trying to speak more 
lightly, “ maybe you don’t realise it, but you are 
missing the opportunity of your life. Mothers in 
novels always have a cart-load of advice to give sons 
on such occasions as this. Well, I’m waiting!” 
He leaned back, and folded his arms in mock resigna- 
tion. 

Mrs. Hemingway merely smiled and shook her 
head. 

“What.f^ No advice .P No cautions.^ Surely you 
have heard that Paris is a wicked city ! ” 

Since you decided to go there I have heard very 
little else,” she replied, with composure. ‘‘ Mrs. 
Abbey and your Aunt Clara seem to know a great 
deal about it.” 

John threw back his head with a laugh. It was a 
gesture of his that she loved. “ Oh, this is rich 1 So 
they have been trying to scare you. Come now. 
Mother, tell me what you said to them.” 

Mrs. Hemingway folded her hands in her lap and 
sat stiflly upright, with tiny lateral movements' about 
the shoulders that reminded one of a mother-bird in 
a nest. It was a gesture that he specially loved. 




THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ Well, my dear, as far as I can recall it, my 
words were something like these : ‘ If my boy is go- 

ing to be a bad man, he will be bad in Delphi. If he 
is to be good, as I know he is, he’ll be just as good 
in Paris.’ ” 

“ Bully for you ! That’s spiked their guns. I’ll 
wager.” 

“ Not altogether, Clara thinks me very remiss in 
my duty because I have not prepared a long list of 
temptations whicji you are to avoid.” 

“ Trust Aunt Clara for knowing ’em,” he ex- 
claimed, with a grimace. “ I’ll tell you what. 
Mother. I’ll bet a hat that her warnings would put 
a fellow on to a lot of devilment that he might never 
have thought of for himself.” 

It is not impossible,” conceded his companion. 
She spoke demurely, but a twinkle of appreciation 
made her eyes bright. 

John laughed outright, then as suddenly scowled. 

“ Never mind other people,” he broke out roughly. 

They don’t count ! Nobody counts, just now, but 
you and me. Mother,” — speaking seriously, — 
‘‘ isn’t there some sort of a promise you want me to 
make you.^^ Something hardy — just to show you — . 
I’d like it to be hard,"* 

She took his strong young hands in her withered 
ones. ‘‘Just go on being your own straightforward, 
clean, honest self, John. I couldn’t ask anything 
better than that.” 

The rough head, a bright brown now that the hair 


AT DAWN 


13 


was so nearly dried and the yellow sun upon it, went 
over to the oilcloth table. The mother bent and 
pressed her lips to it. He reached out an arm, and 
drew her face to his. 

“ Then, if you don’t care fgr promises, say some- 
thing to me in your own dear way. Give me advice 
that I shall always remember, and that will help me, 
for I am just beginning to see what it means to say 
‘ good-bye.’ ” 

Mrs. Hemingway remained silent for many mo- 
ments. She sat motionless, except for a thoughtful, 
steady stroking of the bowed head. Behind them, 
the stove snapped and crackled. Two sparrows, fly- 
ing to the eastern window-sill, preened themselves, 
making queer, animated silhouettes. 

‘‘ I believe there is something,” said the quiet voice, 
at length. ‘‘ Only, I have spoken this way so sel- 
dom, it is going to be a little hard to find the right 
words.” 

John raised his head, and set bright, listening eyes 
on hers. Fire away, little mother,” he encouraged. 

I’m sure to understand.” 

At sight of a troubled little frown between brows 
usually so tranquil, a new, strange tenderness stirred 
in the young man’s heart. With it came something 
strangely like reassurance. There had been growing 
about the little figure, so touchingly familiar in all 
outward details, a sense of the unusual, almost of the 
mysterious. Perhaps the early light had some part 
in it, as music and voices have a new tone at dawn. 


14 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


But there was more. He had been vaguely conscious 
of delicate withholdings, — of depths hitherto unex- 
plored. 

The little frown, at least, was tangible and human. 
He felt himself clinging to it. After all, she was 
just his dear, home-staying little mother, engrossed 
in and satisfied with the narrow life about her. The 
forthcoming advice, whose utterance so perplexed 
her, was sure to be something about underflannels, 
or, at the worst, his regular attendance at the near- 
est Protestant church. Whatever it might be, — 
however trivial, — he would accede, and keep it to 
the letter. Her opening sentence came with a shock 
of surprise. 

“ Every one says this is a wonderful age of 
thought, and inventions, and new things,” she began, 
timidly. You feel it to be that way, don’t you, 
John? ” 

But the young man could only stare. 

“ I don’t mean ordinary, everyday affairs,” she 
amended, noting his surprise, ‘‘ but opinions, views 
of life, the creating of beautiful and splendid things, 
like music and painting and beautiful buildings, — all 
those wonders that you will be right in the middle 
of, when you get to Paris. And — and — then 
feeling that the beauty goes deep down into the liv- 
ing of a person’s life. Do you see what I am trying 
to say? ” 

“ I’m — I’m not perfectly sure I do,” he stam- 
mered. “ You have taken me off my feet, rather.” 


AT DAWN 


15 


I warned you that I wouldn’t be able to express 
myself,” she said despondently. ‘‘ I think these 
thoughts over and over to myself, but I have never 
tried to speak them.” 

‘‘ It’s I who am the bone-head,” protested John 
with vehemence. “ Now that I’ve caught my breath, 
please say it again. You mean,” he continued, as 
he saw her troubled hesitation, “ that creative beauty, 
to be worth while, has got to strike its roots deep 
into human life and character ? ” 

Her face became irradiated. ‘^Yes, — yes!” she 
panted. ‘‘ That puts it exactly. How smart you 
are, John. I could never have found those words in 
a hundred years.” 

“ You don’t have to find them. You are them,” 
John declared, with the brusqueness he often used to 
hide emotion. ‘‘ I understand it all, now. You 
want me to keep myself decent, not from fear, or 
convention, or even through the keeping of promises 
to the best and dearest mother in the world, — but 
because good and beautiful work is in itself a con- 
secration, — and one must keep the Temple of the 
Holies clean.” 

Mrs. Hemingway wiped her eyes. 

John,” she faltered, “ when I hear you talk like 
that I wonder if I wasn’t wrong in not trying to 
persuade you to become a Methodist minister.” 

John sprang to his feet, laughing merrily. She 
too rose. As they faced each other, he caught her 
by her slender shoulders. 


16 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ Look here, you strange, wonderful little mother ! 
What I want to know,” he demanded, “ is how, in 
your busy life, you ever found the time to work out 
such a theory of life and aesthetics ? ” 

“ Why, darning your socks, of course,” she an- 
swered, with a little toss of the grey head. And 
there’s Molly, falling up the back steps. Our little 
party has ended.” 


CHAPTER II 


JOHN TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI AND ITS 
SPARROWS 

Molly McGuire, the hired-girl,” was of somewhat 
recent Irish importation, and wore her acquired 
Americanism like a pair of new yellow shoes. In- 
dependence and aggression creaked at every step. 
To enhance the effect, Molly, while of alert and even 
sprightly build in the upper regions, moved, from 
below, as if on three particularly unmanageable legs. 
To take a direct step forward was for her, appar- 
ently, to achieve the impossible. Her progress 
across a given space could be rendered only in a 
series of obtuse angles. She never, by any chance, 
“ entered ” an apartment, but invariably fell or 
broke in through the door. 

This morning the usual procedure was announced 
by a terrific clatter, as one of her three feet came 
into contact with the fluted tin garbage can on the 
back porch. At the crash, followed by the muffled 
thud of her body against the door, Mrs. Hemingway 
gave a low cry. John laughed. The girl, finally 
bursting into view, paused in astonishment at this 
unexpected invasion of her domain. 

‘‘ Howly Mother!” she ejaculated. ‘‘Now 
wouldn’t thot beat you fer sure! You and Misther 
17 


18 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Jan be the quare early risers the day, Mi’s Hemin’- 
way. An’ I thot I was fair arly mesef ! ” 

“You are early, Molly,” rejoined the mistress, 
with her gentle smile. “ It was very nice of you to 
remember.” 

“ An’ how was I to ferget at all ? ” retorted Molly, 
“ wid the very cobwebs in the corners dhrapin’ 
mournin’ at Misther J an’s lavin’ them ! ” 

John threw a quizzical glance around the four 
corners, to satisfy himself and the girl that her 
simile had been a fiction of the imagination. 

“ Can you have breakfast ready by seven, do you 
think.?” asked Mrs. Hemingway. “It is only six 
now. I’d like to have it over before Mr. John’s 
friends begin to arrive.” 

“ Sure I can,” acquiesced Molly. “ More particu- 
lar, seein’ thot the sthove is a’ready rockin’ an’ 
spitthin’ like an ould Tom-cat wid’ the tooth-ache. 
An’ ye do well til yerselves to make haste against the 
neighbours, fer on’y the jes’ now, as I were peltin’ 
down Elm Strate, I seen that Miss Whitman, — her 
as runs so shameful afther Misther Jan there, — 
a-rubbin’ the cowld crame off her thin nose.” 

“ Come along. Mother,” grimaced John, taking 
the little woman’s arm. “ This is no place for a 
modest youth.” 

“ An’ as I turned the comer forbye,” pursued 
Molly, her rich Irish voice growing louder as they 
retreated, “ Mi’s Walther Hemin’way was all drest 
up in her owld brown alpacky thot as if she’d had 


TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI 19 


it off an underthaker’s umbrella, feedin’ them two 
sick fowls o’ beam from the kitchen winda.” 

The dining-room finally closed upon her convulsed 
audience. 

Molly, left to herself, took up a potato slowly. 

Mi’s Hemin’way do be puttin’ up a classy bluff 
the day,” she remarked to it, mournfully. “ She’s 
hung fresh winda curtains at her eyes, and swept 
out all thraces of her weepin’, but all the same, the 
fond heart o’ her will be afther squeezin’ through 
her ribs to follow afther Misther Jan. He has the 
smile thot would snare ye.” 

Mother, I do hope you will keep Molly,” John, 
in the next room, was saying. ‘‘ She seems a good- 
hearted girl, and her mixture of old Ireland and 
new America is a vocal joy.” 

I shall keep her,” said the little mother. ‘‘ I am 
fortunate in having very little trouble with servants. 
I should never have let old Rebecca go, but — ” 

^ But thot she up an’ died on ye,’ as Molly would 
say,” concluded John, mischievously. 

Now, John. You do like to tease,” she pro- 
tested. ‘‘Where are you going now?” 

He had made his way to the foot of steps, 
where he now paused, giving a slight explanatory 
gesture upward. 

“ I’m going with you, then,” she declared. 
“ Somehow, I don’t want to let you out of my sight 
a minute. Besides, I must see for myself that all 
your little last things are in the bag. You know 


^0 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


you always used to forget your tooth-brush.” 

“ Being the one article that seemed to be entirely 
unforgetable, — I always did,” admitted John, with a 
grin. 

They moved about J ohn’s room together, the little 
woman stepping very softly. Now and again she 
paused, letting a long thoughtful look caress the 
familiar surroundings. She was telling herself that 
all the little ornaments left behind should be kept 
rigidly to their present places, and that the bed, with 
its snowy sheets, should be always in readiness, as 
if he might, after all, be only as far as ‘‘ college,” 
and run home unexpectedly for the night. 

Just now the bed resembled nothing so much as a 
collapsed balloon. In the midst of it was a dressing 
case, its jaws wide, as if clamouring for “ last 
things.” 

The two talked now in hasty commonplaces. 
Their avoidance of deeper themes was obvious to 
both. Each felt a sickening sense of Time’s jeering 
flight: but in the young man’s heart there stirred, 
deep below, the excitement of anticipation. 

Molly’s summons to breakfast was a relief to both. 
It was answered by J ohn’s hearty, All right, Molly ! 
Be down at once.” He hurried out after his mother, 
and, overtaking her at the top step, caught her up 
in his arms and bore her, laughing and protesting, 
to her place downstairs. 

At the table John talked cheerfully and persist- 
ently. He made a mere pretence of eating and 


TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI 21 


covertly watched his mother to see whether she noted 
his lack of appetite and Was troubled. 

The small, pleasant dining-room, being in the na- 
ture of a wing to the main body of the house, had 
windows on three sides. The fourth wall, the solid 
one, was occupied by a rather dreadful sideboard of 
black walnut, flanked by a door which led into the 
pantry, thence into the kitchen. 

Through this door now came Molly’s tousled black 
head. ‘‘ There be Mi’s Hemin’way now, amblin’ us- 
wards along the pavement,” she announced, in a dra- 
matic whisper. 

John sprang to one of the street windows ; not that 
he was particularly keen on gaining an earlier view 
of his Aunt Clara, but because any motion was a 
relief. 

“ Good Lord ! ” he said in consternation. “ It’s 
Aunt Clara, all right. She’s got a regular market 
basket on her arm. It looks like lunch.” 

“ I’m afraid that it is lunch,” echoed the mother, 
peering around John’s bent shoulder. “ She must 
have put one up for you. I hope, John, that you 
are not going to hurt your Aunt Clara by refusing 
to take it with you. She has always prided herself 
on her picnic baskets.” 

But this isn’t a picnic ! Far from it,” lamented 
John. “ Now there. Mother, don’t look worried. 
I’ll take the thing all right. But as soon as I’m 
around the first railway curve I’ll hand it over to 
the porter.” 


22 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ Be sure to peep into it once,” suggested his 
companion, so that you can write and tell me how 
you enjoyed the different things.” 

‘‘ Even you are a hypocrite when it comes to hurt- 
ing other people’s feelings,” said John, but the smile 
he turned on her was tender. 

Again came the thrust of Molly’s head. “ Mi’s 
McMaster, — oop the other strate, — wid a bigger 
hamper on her arrum ! ” 

“ This is too much,” groaned J ohn, and pretended 
to stagger, as if in agony, toward the opposite win- 
dow. 

Mrs. Hemingway, now seriously disturbed, fol- 
lowed swiftly. 

“ Oh, that’s all right ! ” she exclaimed in a tone of 
fervent thanksgiving. “ She is bringing me a basket 
of fresh vegetables. I see carrot and beet tops hang- 
ing out. Kate takes such pride in her little vegeta- 
ble garden.” 

“ Thank heaven it’s no worse,” muttered the 
young man. Then returning to his former outlook, 
he exclaimed, Why ! Aunt Clara has vanished ! ” 
Oh, she will come in through the kitchen. She 
always does. It’s a harmless little fad of hers,” 
smiled Mrs. Hemingway. 

“ Mrs. Walter,” as she was generally called, to 
distinguish her from the widowed Mrs. John Heming- 
way, had been the daughter of a well-to-do farmer 
in the vicinity. In country districts the “ visiting ” 
is almost universally done through the service end 


TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI 23 


of the house, and Mrs. Walter, in spite of having 
been a town resident for more than twenty years, 
had never outgrown the “ back-door habit.” She 
was, to use her own words, a woman who ‘‘ never put 
on frills.” Fashionable calls, the stepping from a 
carriage to mince up cemented walks, push an electric 
button, and send a card in by a smiling maid, seemed, 
in this downright little woman’s eyes, a frivolity that 
bordered upon the absurd. 

On the other hand, there was no kinder neighbour. 
In times of sickness and trouble Mrs. Walter was the 
first to arrive and the last to depart; but she fre- 
quented, by choice, only those houses where, she was 
free to exercise the prerogative of “ stepping in ” at 
the rear. 

To hear Aunt Clara’s firm, determined approach 
and then catch an initial sight of her, gave the ob- 
server a sense of paradox. She was small and slen- 
der, several inches shorter than her most intimate 
friend, Emma Hemingway, but she stepped like a 
general reviewing troops. As might have been ex- 
pected, she disdained all modem innovations in dress, 
clinging to gathered skirts which, always scanty as 
to gathers in the rear, made up in voluminousness 
over the hips and across the front. Needless to say, 
the hem of her garments soared into the air above 
the toes of her “ common-sense,” heelless shoes, while 
dejectedly caressing the floor behind. 

On entering the dining-room where John and his 
mother stood, smiling, to welcome her, she softened 


24 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


her tread as in a sick chamber, flashed one of her 
swift, searching glances from one face to the other 
and, advancing toward the breakfast table, set down 
her burden carefully with the remark : 

‘‘ Well, Emma. This must be a trying hour for 
you.” 

“ Oh, I would not say that. It’s what John and 
I have been wanting. Isn’t it, John? ” 

But John was incapable of a reply. The lunch- 
basket, now in full view, displayed, from one wire 
handle, a peculiarly flabby bow of black crape. He 
turned away quickly, pretending to have been seized 
with a violent coughing spell. 

Aunt Clara’s small, bright eyes rested on him 
suspiciously. ‘‘What’s the matter, John? Swal- 
lowed a gnat ? ” she queried, in her level, monotonous 
tones. 

“ No, — that is, yes ! ” stammered John. “ Some- 
thing seemed to fly into my throat.” 

“ It is too early for gnats. I’ve brought you 
some lunch,” pursued the monotonous, slightly rasp- 
ing voice. It had always given John the effect of 
a coarse cotton tape fed over rusty cylinders. 

“ I’ve put in all the nice things that you used to 
like as a boy. There is a gold-cake with raisins, 
and a pot of the currant-raspberry jam, and a little 
chicken pie in a dish, and — ” 

“ Oh, this is too good of you. Aunt Clara ! — ” 

“ My pastry didn’t turn out as short as it usually 
does,” she went on, exactly as if he had not inter- 


TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI ^5 


rupted. “ It may be a mite indigestible, so I have 
put a little bottle of soda-mint tablets next to it.” 

Again John was threatened by the non-existent 
gnat. His mother threw him a warning look. 

“ You needn’t bother about sending me back the 
jelly glass or the pie dish,” the cotton tape slid on. 
“ Both of them are nicked, but there is good use in 
them yet. If you don’t care to carry them to Paris, 
you are pretty sure to run across some home-loving 
woman on the train or the boat who would be glad 
enough to have them.” 

“ I’m sure to,” agreed John, submissively. 

“ And, John,” she continued, not changing voice 
or manner by a hair’s-breadth, “ I trust that your 
mother has been spending these last moments in warn- 
ing you of the moral dangers you may be running 
into.” 

“ Now, Clara,” protested Emma Hemingway, 
going up to her tall son, and placing a loving hand 
on his shoulder, ‘‘ John doesn’t need any advice. 
Everything that he is going to do will be right.” 

“ Of course you think so, Emma. You have never 
been able to see a fault in John from his birth. But 
John knows what I mean.” 

The entrance of Mrs. McMaster and her vegeta- 
bles proved, for two of the company, at least, a fe- 
licitous interruption. ‘‘ Good mornin’, Emma. How 
are you, Clara,” she exclaimed, with a brisk nod to 
each. “ Well,” — here, stooping a little sidewise, she 
deposited her basket, with a dull thud, upon the floor 


26 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


— “ I guess there ain’t anybody ever saw finer beets 
and onions for this time of year, — not to mention 
the spring greens. They are so tender, it was hard 
to pick ’em.” 

“ They are wonderful,'' agreed the hostess pleas- 
antly, “ and it was so kind of you to bring them over 
yourself, Kate.” 

Aunt Clara, who had deigned nothing more than a 
glance either at the basket or its conveyor hither, 
now drew from a pocket, well-hidden in the brown 
folds of her skirt, a half-finished table-mat of coarse 
white thread, and a small steel crochet needle. 
Crossing the room she drew up a rocking-chair to 
one of the street windows, and, without further 
words, set to work. 

In a few moments old Silas Bartel, the hack driver, 
appeared for “ Mr. John’s trunk,” and the real bustle 
of departure commenced. Other neighbours ap- 
peared, most of them with gifts that both pleased 
and embarrassed the recipient. 

“ Good Lord ! Mother,” he protested, as he 
checked her on one of her flying errands as she 
passed through the hallway. “ I feel like a preacher 
with a donation party. What on earth am I going 
to do with all this fool stuff.? ” 

‘‘ Sh-sh-hhh ! ” she cautioned, in a whisper. ‘‘ You 
simply must take everything with you. It will hurt 
their feelings dreadfully if you don’t.” 

Aunt Clara’s voice, unraised but peculiarly pene- 


TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI 27 


trating, reached them from the room within. They 
sprang apart guiltily. 

“ By the way, John. Your Uncle Walter told me 
to tell you that he would be here in time to drive 
you to the station in his- new buggy, with that Ken- 
tucky mare he sets so much store by.” 

“ Bully ! That will be fine,” cried John, now re- 
entering the room with his arm around his mother. 

“ I guess it would be better for Emma to go down 
in Silas’ hack,” added the colourless voice. “ I came 
prepared to stay here and watch the house while she 
went.” 

“ Mother’s not going to the station at all. I’ve 
asked her specially not to,” declared John. 

Aunt Clara stirred. Her sharp gaze, uplifted, ap- 
peared to scrape a semicircle on the floor. John felt 
that he heard the metallic sound. Her eyes then 
came back to the steel barb of her needle. 

‘‘ Well, everybody has their own way of doing 
things.” Her accents were as unemotional as the 
scallops she was now putting around the border of 
her mat ; yet none of her listeners failed to recognise 
her disapproval. 

Just as Mrs. Hemingway was beginning to glance 
anxiously toward the clock, Walter Hemingway and 
his new buggy clattered up to the gate. 

It was as inevitable that Walter should clatter, 
as that his wife should crochet. He was a florid, 
fine-looking man in the early forties, self-confessed 


28 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


as ‘‘ something of a sport,” and popular with every 
one. He appeared to be several years younger than 
his wife, which was not actually the case, and treated 
her with a careless, good-humoured levity that 
formed a striking contrast to the meticulous defer- 
ence she received from every one else. 

It was generally conceded that Clara took excel- 
lent care of her showy husband. She kept his loud 
garments in perfect order, and fed his large body 
generously and well. What, in her heart, she felt 
toward him, not even her closest friend could guess. 
She was the type of woman who would have accepted 
any sort of a husband with an air of resignation, as 
one gets used to the shape of one’s nose. There had 
been rumours, from time to time, of Walter’s “ atten- 
tions ” to ladies younger and more attractive than 
his wife, but the vague gossip never developed into 
scandal, and if Mrs. Walter knew, she kept her 
thoughts to herself. 

‘‘ Hello, folks ! Hope I ain’t late,” cried Walter 
now, breezing into the old-fashioned room. “ Ready, 
John. Lucky devil, you ! Here, let me lend a hand 
to that grip.” 

Aunt Clara at the window had given an almost 
imperceptible side-glance as her big husband entered, 
but no word of greeting passed. 

“ Not goin’ to the station, Emma.? ” the loud, 
cheerful voice rang out, as he noticed that Mrs. 
Hemingway was still without her bonnet, and had 
evidently no intention of going out. “ Sensible 


TURNS HIS BACK UPON DELPHI 29 


woman,” he commended, nodding energetically. 

There’s a regular mob at the station already. 
Just saw little Tom Fleet, the reporter, John. I 
promised to feed him up on some stuff about you. 
There’s going to be a classy send-off down there, — I 
can tell you ! ” 

‘‘ J ohn,” whispered the little mother, edging up to 
her son. Come upstairs. I am beginning to feel 
very tremulous. I would rather say good-bye in 
your own room.” 

As they hurried out together, Mrs. Walter slowly 
laid down her mat. Her eyes met those of Kate 
McMaster, and for once there was sympathy be- 
tween them. Disgust and disappointment were visi- 
ble in both faces. 

Now, the next thing, she’ll be locking herself 
in,” snapped Mrs. McMaster. 

Walter took her playfully by the arm, and twirled 
her around until she stood directly before him. 

“ Want to view the remains, do you? ” he bantered. 

That’s Clara’s star-play, too.” 

Now, Walter, you stop. You’re always teas- 
ing,” protested Kate with an elderly giggle. She 
wrenched herself free and began to rub vigorously 
the arm which he had grasped. Walter laughed. 
Mrs. Walter remained oblivious. 

In a few moments John came downstairs, flushed 
as to face, and looking very sober. 

‘‘ Come on, boy,” cried his uncle, bestowing a 
heartening slap on the shoulder. “ Tell these old 


30 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


girls good-bye and beat it, for there’s a lot more 
waiting at the station.” 

“ Women are queer critters,” remarked the elder 
man as the two climbed into the high buggy. 
‘‘ They’d rather gloat on their best friend’s misery 
than eat.” 

‘‘ I know one gentle soul who wouldn’t,” returned 
John, rather thickly. 

“ By George, and there’s another ! ” supplemented 
Walter as Molly McGuire, her eyes red with weeping, 
leaned far from the kitchen sill to cry out, ‘‘ Good- 
bye an’ good-luck til ye, Masther Jan, I’ll be 
lookin’ afther the mother of yer heart.” 

The mare started off at a spring. John, looking 
backward, saw up at the window of the room which 
had been his shelter and his haven for so many happy 
years a little grey-haired woman, smiling bravely, 
and waving a somewhat sodden pocket handkerchief. 

He hastily drew out his own, and waved an answer- 
ing farewell. 

Then the old home vanished. 


CHAPTER III 


THE « SEND-OFF ” AT THE STATION 

Walter, all during the short, swift drive, kept up 
a high-voiced monologue, meant to cheer. The 
young man at his side did not, at first, take in a 
single word of it. 

The shod hoofs of the mare struck off the increase 
of distance in audible heartbeats. Each seemed an 
impact on the quivering flesh. Should he have con- 
sented to this long separation from his mother, no 
matter what the personal gain? Was she not too 
old ? How old, — to face the matter clearly, — was 
his mother? To a growing lad his parents, though 
technically young, always produce the effect of a sub- 
dued maturity which passes easily into old age. He 
could recall, now that his thoughts were deliberately 
turned backward, when the grey hair was very 
nearly brown; and once, in that long-ago time, he 
had heard Aunt Clara say that “ Emma had broken 
something terrible since her husband’s death.” He 
had wondered then, in angry though vague alarm, 
what had been meant by “ broken.” 

John had no memories of his father beyond a 
misty impression of a huge, genial man who some- 
times tossed him into the air as if he had been a 
plaything, and whose coming always brightened the 
little mother’s face. 


31 


S2 THE STRANGE WOMAN 

Then had come a day of whispering women in 
the front parlour. His mother was not among 
them, for “ father ” had been taken sick, and she 
was somewhere in the house nursing him. John had 
not been allowed to see either. His Aunt Clara had 
gone upstairs and returned, carrying a little dress- 
ing case packed with small-boy clothes. Later 
Uncle Walter had driven up to the door, just as 
he had driven this very morning, — the same Uncle 
Walter who now sat talking with such loud unmean- 
ing beside him. He had been quite slender then, 
but, as John now remembered, with the same bold 
eyes, red cheeks, and hearty, strident voice. 

He had called the child out to him, offering to 
take him for a ‘‘ ride,” — in the excitement of which 
benefice, John had failed to notice that the dressing- 
bag was being pushed under the buggy seat. 

Aunt Clara, shading her reddened eyes, had 
peered upward to her husband, saying, “ Come back 
for me at four. Yes, I’ll be careful. You can 
bring me a change of clothes and I’ll leave these 
here to be disinfected.” 

‘‘Where are we going, Uncle Walter the child 
had asked. 

“ Out to the farm, my boy. You’re to stay a 
whole week, maybe longer.” 

“ Isn’t mother coming ” 

“ Not this trip, youngster. She’s going to do her 
house cleaning, and wants you out of the way.” 


THE “ SEND-OFF ” 


SS 

This was in early October. The leaves of the 
soft-maples already had a touch of crimson. The 
child knew well that house-cleaning came at a time 
when leaves were young. But it was useless to ar- 
gue with an Olympian. 

“ What’s that funny yellow flag the man is put- 
ting on my house ? ” he had asked, instead. 

‘‘ Oh,” answered the man, with a startled glance 
around, “ that’s just to show that young John Hem- 
ingway has gone on a visit to his uncle.” 

“ I don’t want to go. I want to stay with my 
mother ! ” the child had cried, stung by a sudden 
terror. 

“ Here, you kid. Pull that foot in or you’ll be 
one-legged,” commanded the man, brusquely. A 
sharp flick of the whip started the old horse into a 
gallop. 

John had never seen the yellow flag again, and 
he had never seen his father again. 

The week at Uncle Walter’s farm had lengthened 
into a month; and then, one crisp, golden, Novem- 
ber morning he had been told that his mother was 
coming out to see him in the afternoon, and was to 
make a little visit before taking him back to town. 

All during that day the child had been in a state 
of tremulous excitement. This was his first sepa- 
ration from his mother, and now that she was com- 
ing back, he knew what had made the nights so long 
and dark. 


34 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


But when he finally caught a glimpse of her, and 
was running toward her crying out his rapture, he 
had suddenly paused and, as she hastily descended 
from the buggy to clasp him in her arms, had 
broken into violent sobbing, and had run to hide 
himself. 

In a few days the feeling of strangeness, almost 
of terror, had faded, but he had never been able 
quite to forget the agony of that first shock. 

Now, again, it was “ Uncle Walter ” who was 
bearing him away from the little mother. Would 
their next meeting be a tragedy even deeper? 

‘‘Wake up, old scout!” cried Walter, giving him 
a sudden thrust with his elbow. “ You look like the 
lost chord out of tune 1 People are hailing you from 
the sidewalk and you don’t so much as notice them.” 

“I — I just got to thinking,” explained John, 
with an embarrassed little laugh. “ It’s over now. 
I’m all right.” 

“All right! I should think you would be,” said 
the other with a deep note of envy. “ Lucky young 
dog that you are! Wish to gosh I was in your 
shoes this minute.” 

“ Maybe you’ll come over later and join me,” sug- 
gested John, forcing himself into a semblance of 
heartiness. 

“Not a chance. Not a chance,” responded Wal- 
ter with a mournful shake of the head. “ Couldn’t 
leave business for that long. And, besides,” — 
here the jovial grin re-appeared — “these fool boys 


THE “SEND-OFF’’ 35 

around town have set their minds on running me for 
mayor.” 

“ I’ve heard so. You’re sure to get it.” 

“Yep, — I believe I’ve got it cinched if I choose 
to take it. All the same, I’d rather go to Paree. 
Gay Paree ! That’s what you call it, don’t you ? ” 
“ I don’t,” laughed John. “ I’d be sure to get 
the pronunciation wrong. How on earth I’m ever 
going to make myself understood in that language 
is a mystery. I hope they speak English at the 
Academy.” 

“ How about those flashy demmy-zelles we read 
about ” laughed Walter, with a sidewise leer. 
“ Don’t you want them to know English, too ? ” 
Not in my present state of feelings,” responded 
the young man, soberly. “All I am looking for- 
ward to is hard work, and getting back home. I 
feel as if I were being carried off to a penitentiary.” 

“ You’ll get over that soon. Wait till Gabby 
Dee-lees and her bunch begin to make goo-goos at 
you ! Lord ! young fellow, but it’s your chance ! ” 
A sudden turn, disclosing some blocks away the 
railway station already thronged with people who 
had come to see John off, spared him the necessity 
of a reply to this nauseating observation. Instead, 
he cried out, “ Gee whiz ! Look at the crowd ! Do 
you suppose they are down there for my benefit? ” 
“Sure thing!” chortled Walter. “I warned 
you there would be a regular delegation. All they 
need is a brass band.” 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ It’s awfully good of them, but I wish I were 
dead, and safely buried,” muttered John. 

“Cut out the coy and modest!” chaffed Walter. 
“ There’s nothing better for a young fellow than 
to be popular in his home town.” 

“ And have a popular uncle,” supplemented John. 
“Well,” puffed Walter, his broad face growing 
even redder under the excitement of the moment. 
“ I won’t say that Uncle Walter hasn’t some little 
part in the ovation. Hullo! There’s May Arm- 
strong in her new car. Drivin’ it herself, by Jove! 
She’s a sport all right ! ” 

They both waved a vigorous greeting in response 
to Mrs. Armstrong’s laughing nod. 

“Good Lord!” groaned John. “May has the 
entire back of the car heaped with flowers. There 
are enough to cover the grave of a baby elephant. 
Have I got to carry all the flowers on board, too? ” 
Walter did not reply at once. He was watching 
May, and his bold eyes narrowed as the young 
woman, plump, comely but a little over-dressed, cut 
with her shining car across their path, and sped 
before them to the station. 

“ Needs must,” said the man now, by way of an- 
swer, as the echoes of May’s arrogant siren-hom 
died in the air. “You can chuck them out of the 
window at the first railway curve. Wonder how 
that marriage is going to turn out, anyhow ! ” 

“ You mean May and young Armstrong? ” 
Walter nodded. 


THE “ SEND-OFF ” 37 

‘‘ Well, he was the best catch in town. May went 
for him and got him,” remarked John, succinctly. 

“Yes,” grinned Walter. “But now that she’s 
got him will she want to keep him ? ” 

“ Oh, May is a little vivid,” protested John. 
There was something in Walter’s voice when he 
spoke of women that always irritated him. “ But 
at heart she’s all right. She’ll play the game.” 

“ Huh-h-m,” Walter was beginning, when the 
other, raising his voice, exclaimed : “ Cora Whit- 

man, in her electric runabout ! Can you see 
flowers ? ” 

“ Nary a flower,” reassured Walter. “ But then 
she probably has a bunch of forget-me-nots tucked 
away somewhere. Cora is our sentimental number.” 

“And there’s Mrs. Abbey, just landing at the 
station platform in her basket-pony phaeton. No 
floral display there, either.” 

“ That old filly sure makes me tired,” observed 
Mr. Hemingway. She wouldn’t bring anything so 
useless. But you just watch her hand you out a 
little package of books, neatly tied.” 

“ I shouldn’t be surprised if you were right,” ac- 
ceded John with a grin. “ They will probably be 
a marked guide-book, and some of Emerson’s es- 
says. Mrs. Abbey has given me Emerson’s ‘ Es- 
says ’ since I was five years old, but she’s a good 
sort, all the same.” 

“ You’re welcome to her and all of her kind,” said 
Walter, rudely. 


38 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


In a moment more they were in the midst of gift- 
laden friends. 

Tom Fleet, May Armstrong’s younger brother, 
wearing a reporter’s button for the Delphi Oracle, 
used the talisman as a lever to force him forward, 
and keep him there. His notebook and pencil were 
poised high, that all should see. His bright boyish 
eyes snapped with interest and importance. ‘‘ Now, 
old man,” he began, in a breathless tone which he 
fondly hoped sounded “ professional.” ‘‘ Just a few 
pointers, briefly stated, as to your aims and object 
in going abroad, what you hope to pull off, your 
favourite schools of archy-tecture, how long you in- 
tend to stay, what you expect to build when you 
get back, — and any old thing you’ll like to see pub- 
lished in the Oracle, I’ve got three columns prom- 
ised, and I expect to fill ’em up with some stuff! ” 

Charlie Abbey, a clean-looking blond youth with 
a face that should have been genial but which was 
suppressed and discontented, made his way more 
quietly through the crowd. He had disdained con- 
veyance in his mother’s phaeton, an equipage which 
his young and modern soul loathed, preferring to 
walk down. At John’s elbow, he said in a plaintive 
voice, “ Can’t you smuggle me in as your Yalla^, 
John? ” 

Wish I could, Charlie.” He was one of the 
younger set whom John, and indeed most other peo- 
ple, sincerely liked. 

“ Of course that’s no good,” continued the boy, 


THE “ SEND-OFF ” 


39 


speaking more earnestly. ‘‘ But if you could make 
up your mind to write a series of Sunday-school arti- 
cles back home, and get your mother to read them 
to my mother, maybe she’d play out this string she 
keeps me tied to, and give me a year with you in a 
real town. I’m going to bust, or murder somebody 
in Delphi, if I don’t get away soon.” 

“I’ll do it!” cried John, sympathetically. 
“ And what’s the matter with putting in a word for 
you right now. I see your mother over there. I’ll 
go to her.” 

Laughing, and answering at random the many 
questions put to him, John made his way, forth- 
with, to a little figure which stood very erect, wait- 
ing, with a somewhat fixed smile, until the Hero of 
the Hour should remember, and seek her out. Mrs. 
Abbey made advances to no one. She had been 
born in Boston, Massachusetts, a fact which neither 
she, nor her large circle of acquaintances, was ever 
allowed to forget. She held, at right angles to her 
stiff little bodice, a small parcel, neatly tied in white 
paper with blue ribbons. Charlie Abbey remained 
hidden behind his friend. 

“ Good-morning, Mrs. Abbey,” began the latter 
in his very best manner. He, in common with the 
rest of masculine Delphi, always lifted his hat a 
trifle higher, and kept his head bared an instant 
longer, when in the presence of this gracious, yet 
vaguely austere little lady. “ I can’t tell you how 
I appreciate your taking the trouble to come.” 


40 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


My dear John,” she responded. She pro- 
nounced the name crisply, at one hite^ as->Jt were, 
giving the sound of ‘‘ Jan.” ‘‘ It is not every day 
in the year that a fellow-citizen adventures forth in 
definite search of culture and improvement. It is 
but right that your friends show sympathy and ap- 
preciation. I have brought you a little gift.” Here 
she extended the neat parcel. John took it as a 
child does a school prize. “You need not trouble 
to untie it just at present,” she went on, becoming 
more condescending and impressive as she noted how 
those about her had fallen into silence, and were 
hanging upon her words. “ Wait until you have 
recovered from the present tension of leave-taking. 
In some hour of relaxation, when you feel the need 
of consolation and of spiritual uplift, you may, per- 
haps, find my little offering a solace.” 

John heard a smothered groan behind him. 

“ Thank you a thousand times. I’m — I’m sure 
to, Mrs. Abbey,” stammered the recipient of these 
lofty phrases. He wished more than ever to be 
dead. “ By the way,” he jerked out, as Charlie 
pulled his coat-tail sharply. “ Isn’t there any hope 
of you and Charlie coming over this summer ” 

“ I fear not,” came the quick answer. “ I have 
a special Chautauquan course planned out. The 
Oriental Religions, you know, and their infiuence on 
modern thought. I am not so young as you, Jan; 
and I have never had an opportunity such as this 
brilliant one that now shines before you, but at least. 


THE “ SEND-OFF ” 


41 


in my own simpler way, I am determined to keep 
my mind sympathetic, alert, and in touch with the 
new things of this wonderful age we live in.” 

“ How about coming next summer, then.? ” per- 
sisted John. 

In his eagerness, Charlie stepped out into full 
view. 

‘‘ Yes, Mother,” he seconded. ‘‘ Couldn’t we plan 
to go next summer? ” 

“ I’ll be deathly homesick by then. It would be 
an act of mercy, if you will,” urged John. 

Both pairs of eyes were fixed hopefully upon Mrs. 
Abbey’s small wrinkled face. That arbiter of des- 
tiny appeared to hesitate. 

“ I could scarcely commit myself to such a step 
thus far in advance,” she temporised. “ Should I 
carry out my present half-formed intention of add- 
ing a sleeping-porch and a sun parlour to my house 
next summer — ” 

‘‘ Then send Charlie over,” blurted out John. 
“ I’ll promise to look after him. Charlie is a good 
boy, anyway. It will be a godsend to me.” 

‘‘ Oh, Mother,” breathed Charlie, his young face 
radiant with a gleam of hope. 

Mrs. Abbey’s eyes, which had brightened a little 
under John’s enthusiasm, now, meeting those of her 
son, concentrated into two small points of critical 
regard. 

“ If Charles would only become interested in some 
line of study or research — ” she complained. 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ I’ll become interested in anything you want me 
to, Mater, — anything t ’’ promised the boy, reck- 
lessly. 

“ That is just the trouble,” said Mrs. Abbey, with 
petty triumph. ‘‘ Such a remark shows that you 
have no special inclination.” 

‘‘ You know perfectly well that I am crazy to 
try and be a painter,” Charlie flared out, stung by 
the injustice of this statement. 

The mother’s thin lips came together. ‘‘ I do not 
consider that you have sufficient talent to warrant 
the expenditure of time and money which such a 
vocation would entail.” 

Charlie flushed with mortification; but he still had 
one plea to make, and in the hurt anger of the mo- 
ment did not care how many listened. 

“Oh, Mother!” he cried despairingly. “You 
won’t let me be what I want, and yet you ridicule 
me because I cannot make another choice right away. 
How can I make a choice here.? It’s all so shut 
in! You feel for yourself that it’s a big thing for 
John to go out into the world. Why not give me 
the same chance.? It isn’t as if you didn’t have the 
money — ” 

“That’s straight, Mrs. Abbey!” cried John, un- 
heeding the cold disapproval in the little woman’s 
face. 

Before Mrs. Abbey could rally her outraged sen- 
sibilities, May Armstrong, big, hearty, with an enor- 


THE « SEND-OFF ” 43 

mous sheaf of hot-house roses nodding over her left 
arm, came into possession of the scene. 

Cora Whitman, who always moved with an effect 
of secrecy, in some way gained John’s other side. 

Here are some valley lilies, John,” she whis- 
pered, elevating the small, fragrant nosegay in a 
wavering and oblique line, until it came into contact 
with John’s chin. The young man was, by this 
time, on the verge of hysteria. The sight of some 
sprays of blue forget-me-nots, nestling coyly among 
the lilies, threatened to prove the last straw for his 
over-burdened self-control. 

Walter’s booming voice, announcing the approach 
of the train around “ Turner’s Bend,” saved him 
from exposure and disgrace. 

He was literally pushed aboard. A mass of chat- 
tering friends clambered in behind him. Each bore 
in one hand some article of his hand-luggage, or an 
individual gift of packages or flowers, and many 
feminine squeals arose at the height of the step they 
were called upon to ascend. 

Aunt Clara’s crepe bow fluttered with indecorous 
excitement. The odours of sandwiches, flowers and 
laughing humanity flooded the narrow Pullman 
sleeper. Passengers already seated stared toward 
the invasion with smiles, and began to look hope- 
fully about for scattered rice and a giggling bride. 

But when the conductor’s long-drawn “ All a-boo- 
oo-a-rd ! ” started a merry panic toward the exit 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


door, there was left at the window only a solitary 
young man, brideless, yet flushed, surrounded by a 
precarious and tottering mass of offerings. 

The train slowly moved upon its way. Cora 
Whitman pressed a lace handkerchief to her pow- 
dered cheeks. May Armstrong, standing on tiptoe, 
with one hand on Walter Hemingway’s broad 
shoulder for better support, waved a last, aerial 
« high-ball.” 

‘‘Good-bye, John! Good luck to you! Don’t 
forget to come back home ! ” rose the chorus of 
friendly voices. 

As the little station disappeared, John mopped 
his brow, and sank back as if exhausted among the 
shivering pyramid of gifts. Then he drew in a 
long, long breath of freedom, not unlike that of a 
walrus, held overtime in watery depths. 

Now, at last, he was really on the road to 
Carcassonne ! 


CHAPTER IV 


SUNDAY IN PARIS 

Again it was May ; and again the sparrows chirped. 
John Hemingway, waking slowly from a somewhat 
troubled sleep, heard, as from the other side of the 
world, the medley of acute, falsetto voices. For one 
blessed moment of semi-unconsciousness, he be- 
lieved himself to be at home. 

The delusion was but short-lived. “ Oh, hang it ! 
They are chirping French ! ” he muttered, and 
tossed about with disappointment and impatience. 

He pounded his hard pillow viciously, turned it 
over with a single motion of the arm, and, burrowing 
his head into it, tried to re-capture sleep. To the 
homesick American those hours abroad spent other- 
wise than in hard work or hard sleeping, were wasted. 

He had not grown to love La Belle Paris.’’ Her 
much vaunted ‘‘ glamour ” left him cold. The lan- 
guage was still a nightmare and a horror. He was 
convinced that, even if doomed to live in France for 
the rest of his natural life, — which Heaven in its 
mercy forbid ! — he would never be able to under- 
stand easily, much less to speak, the vivacious and 
elusive tongue. 

“ If these people could or would ever answer a 
question directly ! ” he once complained to the young 
45 


46 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Englishman whose draughting board stood next to 
his in the Academy. “ But no matter how hard 
I work to frame it up so that the reply ought to be 
a simple ‘ yes ’ or ‘ no,’ they only stare at me, look 
disgusted, make me repeat myself, then suddenly 
go up into the air like a jumping- jack, letting off 
an explosion of vocables, at which I am so terrified 
that I don’t catch a word.” 

“ Yes, I know, old chap,” was the unsmiling re- 
joinder. “ But the Frenchies are not such a bad 
lot when you get to understand them.” 

“ But that’s just where I never expect to get,” 
groaned John, for which gloomy utterance the An- 
glo-Saxon had no comment to give. 

John had been away one year, and he felt as 
though it had been ten. This was the anniversary 
of his departure from Delphi. To make it worse, 
the date had fallen on Sunday, and the exile hated 
Sundays just a little worse than all the other days 
of the week combined. 

Then the “ lEcole ” was closed to him ; and though 
he had set up an excellent draughting board in his 
little fourth-floor suite just off the Rue Jacob, the 
Sabbath training of his childhood withheld him from 
doing regular work on a day which he knew his 
mother kept inviolate. 

During the first lonely weeks he had gone, with 
faithful regularity, to the “ nearest Protestant 
church,” but the effect had been so to deepen his 
longing, that attendance finally became unendurable. 


SUNDAY IN PARIS 


After this he made half-hearted, solitary little 
trips to well-known suburban places, usually con- 
veyed thither on the top of those refuges of the des- 
titute, the motor omnibuses ; — but his ignorance 
of the language, combined with his envy of the 
happy, chatting family groups all about him, caused 
the abandonment of this diversion also. 

Gradually Sunday became his recluse day; its 
one bright spot the writing of his long, weekly let- 
ter to his mother. 

Her corresponding scribal hour was Sunday after- 
noon; and often, at night, the tedious day having 
crawled away at last, John would lean back in his 
chair and close his tired eyes, calculating the dif- 
ference in time between Paris and little Delphi, and 
say to himself, ‘‘ There is eight o’clock striking. 
That means it is just four at home. Mother is 
sitting at her desk by the dining-room window, 
the afternoon sunshine on her blessed grey head, 
writing to ^ her boy.’ ” More than once something 
warm and round stole out from under the thick 
lashes, and made its way unchecked along the man’s 
cheek. 

The year had brought him no new friends. In 
crossing the Atlantic his allotted place at table had 
chanced to fall among a group of lively compatri- 
ots, seasoned globe-trotters who, according to them- 
selves, had been everywhere and knew everything 
worth knowing. They soon became much interested 
in John’s career,” asking an astonishing number 


48 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


of questions and vouchsafing much unsolicited ad- 
vice. Among other things they assured him, in 
positive and convincing words, that Americans who 
went to Paris with any more laudable intention than 
that of scattering American dollars, were notori- 
ously unpopular. After the recital of many dis- 
turbing examples of official injustice and social per- 
secution, given by way of establishing the truth of 
their initial statement, they set forth, as explana- 
tion, their opinion that it arose from “pure jeal- 
ousy ” ; the American student being invariably 
“ smarter ” than those of other nations with whom 
he was thrown into contact. 

It was the fact, however, and not the flattering 
explanation, that remained with John, causing him 
to be not only shy in making advances, but sceptical 
toward the few that were extended. 

This isolation kept him enslaved, with an almost 
passionate intensity of purpose, to the work for 
which he had come; and his improvement had been 
so marked that, especially of late, he had not been 
able to blind himself to certain indications of envy 
and dislike. He knew that among the “ other fel- 
lows ” he was regarded as a “ grind,” a bit of a 
prig, if not an actual “ cochon,” than which term 
there was nothing more insulting in all the language. 
Through their averted eyes he saw himself in the 
light of an American hog, who having had the good 
fortune to reach this classic clover-field, allowed 
himself no distractions beyond those of acquisition, 


SUNDAY IN PARIS 49 

and was steadily devouring more than his legitimate 
share. 

In his loneliness, and because of the morbid sensi- 
tiveness it was slowly but surely engendering, John 
felt, at times, a bitter sort of triumph. “ If they 
won’t be decent, at least they can’t prevent me from 
doing better work,” was his sneering thought. 

But down in his heart he resented it keenly. At 
home, and off at college, too, he had had so many 
friends ! It was with a distinct and sickening real- 
isation of his present forlorn and desolate condi- 
tion that he lay awake this Sunday morning, cursing 
the sparrows, and dreading the long hours that must 
pass before he could again enter the now well-known 
gateway at number 14, Rue Bonaparte, and, passing 
through the somewhat amorphous “ vestibule,” enter 
those halls to the daily scene of petty ignominy and 
essential triumph. 

His first glimpse of the Ecole des Beaux Arts had 
brought a feeling of incredulous disappointment. 
Instead of the gleaming white pillars of his dreams, 
he saw a group of uninspired buildings, quite mod- 
ern, and with no majesty even in the grouping. 
Here and there were, indeed, wonderful bits of medi- 
aeval architecture left over from the old Couvent des 
Petits-Augustins, the site of which the Academy had 
pre-empted ; but even these relics, dwarfed and 
cheapened by impinging innovation, had, each one 
of them, the incongruous and pathetic appearance of 
some grand seignior of the time and costume of 


50 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Louis XV, photographed in a company of up-to- 
date French officials wearing frock coats and tall 
shiny hats. 

After half an hour of unhappy reflections, John, 
seeing that sleep was irrevocably fled, rose and went 
to one of the two small, square windows that looked 
out almost directly into a similar fourth-storey pair 
across the narrow street. By protruding his head 
and giving it an upward slant, he was enabled to 
command a strip of Armament. As now he pulled 
aside the faded chintz and proceeded to execute the 
gymnastic feat, he was conscious of an ungenerous 
hope that the day was to prove a rainy one. 

But no! The ribbon of sky was as blue as the 
forget-me-nots Cora Whitman had given him at 
parting. 

John withdrew his head slowly. Caution was a 
necessary adjunct to the small acrobatic perform- 
ance. With a sigh of resignation he re-crossed the 
room, skirting the sharp corners of his draughting- 
board, and, jerking at the long, dangling bell-cord 
which had once been crimson, threw himself down 
again upon the bed, until the maid-of-all-work, an 
over-driven slave most inappropriately called ‘‘ Fe- 
lice,” should come pounding up the stairs with the 
water for his collapsible rubber bath-tub. 

He thought ruefully of the shining faucets at 
home, and the ease with which the morning bath was 
accomplished. Even the howls of the watery ban- 
shee would now have been as music to his ear. After 


SUNDAY IN PARIS 


51 


allowing him more than sufficient time for his 
“ tub,” Felice would re-ascend, conveying coffee, — 
or, to be more accurate, a dark, strange fluid known 
to his landlady by that name, — and with it would 
be two rolls, one, invariably, of crescent shape, the 
other, less certain as to contour, with perhaps the 
smooth swelling exterior of a mushroom, or else of 
a puckered and ingrowing regard, not unlike the 
mouth of a tobacco pouch. 

Just as he had reached the limit of his patience, 
and was about to give a second and more peremptory 
summons, the sound of heavy, slowly-advancing feet, 
accompanied by rhythmic splashing of water, an- 
nounced the coming of Felice. 

The young man went through his morning rou- 
tine with slow deliberation. On week days it was 
usually a scramble, for ahead of him was the Ecole, 
and work. But what need for haste to-day, when 
there was nothing to do but live through so many 
long, sunlit, empty hours? 

When the coffee-tray arrived, upon it, lying be- 
side the rolls, was a spray of lilac blooms. “ With 
Madame’s compliments,” explained Felice, nodding 
toward them. It is now the season of spring, and 
these flowers may serve to remind the young mon- 
sieur of home.” The smile turned upon him, even 
her plainness of feature and the unending drudgery 
of her life had failed to rob entirely of youth. 

John thanked her, and as long as she remained 
in the room held the spray in careless, masculine 


52 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


fashion; but as the door closed upon her, suddenly 
pressed it against his nostril and his lips. Remind 
the young monsieur of home! If the kindly souls 
only knew ! 

The light breakfast over, John commenced a rest- 
less, if restricted, wandering. Sometimes he would 
look again from the window, as if hoping that his 
eyes had played him false and that the storm clouds 
were really there; or, pausing within, would stare 
unseeing at some familiar object, unconscious that he 
scowled. 

Before the old-fashioned French table with small 
mirror hung above, which served him in lieu of 
dresser, his eyes suddenly met the reflection of his 
own troubled face. At the woebegone, almost tragic 
expression, he laughed aloud. John was safe as 
long as he was able to laugh at his misery. Pass- 
ing on to the desk, he took up a framed portrait of 
his mother, and flinging himself down into the re- 
volving chair, studied it long and silently. 

It was earlier in the day than he usually wrote, 
but now an unconquerable desire to “ have a chat by 
mail,” as she phrased it, made him reach out for pen 
and paper. Her letters, neatly and chronologically 
arranged, filled many of the pigeon-holes. Others 
were still empty, waiting for precious visitors that 
surely were to come. He read over several of the 
more recent, and in a short while was interested and 
immersed in the transcription of his adventure of the 
week past. He seldom confessed that he was home- 


SUNDAY IN PARIS 


53 


sick, and now gave a description of student gaieties, 
blue skies, and general well being, calculated to re- 
assure the most anxious of mother hearts. 

‘‘ Later on,” he wrote, ‘‘ when I have finished this 
letter, perhaps I shall take one of the little local 
trains or ’busses, and see whether I cannot find some 
quaint, attractive suburb, not yet explored. I seem 
to have been to pretty nearly all of them; but there 
is no harm to take another look in to Mrs. Abbey’s 
guide-book. She has specially marked nothing but 
churches, libraries, picture-galleries and tombs, but 
maybe I can dig out a new and untried ‘ pleasure- 
resort.’ I’ll stop here, and let you know, later on, 
what I have been able to find.” 

Under this last sentence he made a neat line of 
asterisks, and smiling at his own childish pretence, 
reached out for the guide-book. He knew he had 
not the faintest intention of going. The very writ- 
ing of the term ‘‘ pleasure-resort ” was accompanied 
with a twisted smile, but it was worth while 
putting up a bluff ” if it pleased his mother. He 
opened the thin leaves at random. “ Sevres,” St, 
Cloud,” ‘‘Meudon,” “St, Germain,” “ Pontoise.’^ 
He had been to them all and, apart from a few in- 
teresting bits of architecture, they remained in his 
memory as little more than a collocation of unpro- 
nounceable names. He would try for something in 
a different direction. The pages went rapidly. 
Suddenly, without quite knowing why, he checked 
their flight. “ Chatillon,” “ Fontenay-aux-Roses.” 


54 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


At least roses ” was intelligible ; but on the page 
opposite his eye caught the printed name of “ Rob- 
inson.” He smiled at the incongruity. Of course 
the French people would never speak it as it was 
written. The vowels would slip and writhe like wet 
eels, and most of the consonants be left suspended in 
the midair of speech. But to him, at least, it was 
free to remain just ‘‘ Robinson.” Toying with the 
fancy, he uttered the word aloud, and then restated 
it, with the name J ack ” in front. If ever he 
should undertake another trip, it would surely be to 
Jack Robinson. Poetic justice hinted that such a 
starting should be quick. John laughed and shook 
his head. Then he laughed again, without the 
shake. “ By George, I’ll do it ! ” he announced, 
slapping his hand down upon the desk. “ And I’ll 
go this very day ! ” 

The letter was finished in a vein of brightness that 
did not need his tender hypocrisy to make it real. 
He sealed and stamped it, then went into his great 
mahogany amoire in search for real ‘‘ Sunday 
clothes.” 

The air blowing in through his flowered cur- 
tains already breathed warmth. Surely he could 
wear that grey suit, the one his mother had liked 
best! As the new toilet proceeded, John was sur- 
prised to find himself whistling. 

A sprig of lilac, carefully detached, was placed in 
his buttonhole. When all was finished, he could not 
forbear a pleased glance into the mirror. Colour 


SUNDAY IN PARIS 


55 


had mounted into his cheeks, and the rich tones con- 
trasted well with the soft, dull grey of cloth, the 
grey-green necktie, and the fleck of mauve on his 
left lapel. 

Why, I’m a regular sport ! ” he told himself. 
‘‘ I wonder what’s come over me, anyhow I I feel as 
if something was going to happen ! ” 

After a hasty look through his pockets to see that 
he carried sufficient change, he caught up the letter 
and, still whistling, made his way down the three 
narrow flights of stairs. 


CHAPTER V 

WHAT BEFELL JOHN AT ROBINSON’S 


After some thought John had decided to avoid, 
for once, his usual means of locomotion, the omnibus 
top, and, instead, take the tram line which, his 
schedule informed him, started from St, Germain- 
des-Pres, just around the corner. He would go to 
its terminal, the little town of Sceaux, from which it 
was but a short walk to his destination. 

The inexplicable feeling of buoyancy persisted. 
Mrs. Abbey’s guide-book had told him little except 
that “ Robinson ” was “ charmingly situated at the 
foot of a wooded hill,” was noted for its ‘‘ garden- 
cafes,” and had platforms built up in its large chest- 
nut trees. 

Next to the homely magnet of its name, it was the 
thought of these tree-platforms that had allured 
him. How many years had it been since he, with 
the “ other boys ” of Delphi, had built houses up 
among branches? He found himself wondering a 
little how a ‘‘ grown-up ” was going to feel in sur- 
roundings so essentially those of childhood. 

The little yellow car at St. Germain-des-Pres was 
crowded before its initial start ; but somehow, to-day, 
he felt neither impatience nor envy. He watched, 
with interest, the various groups du famille, being 
56 


WHAT BEFELL JOHN 


57 


particularly attracted to the children. Noting the 
play of their red lips and the rapidity with which the 
liquid, colloquial phrases poured through them, he 
recalled, smilingly, the story of the English lad who, 
having suffered under a French governess for some 
years and being brought to Paris for the first time, 
exclaimed in astonishment, ‘‘ Why, even the babies 
speak French over here! ” 

To-day John almost wished himself a French 
baby. The thought that when his luncheon hour 
came he would have to order it in the native tongue 
and partake of what the waiter chose to bring him 
in a wordless solitude, dulled for a moment the bright- 
ness which so far had accompanied him. 

He frowned slightly, and stared out from his win- 
dow. The entire country was in holiday garb. Li- 
lacs and yellow acacias nodded (everywhere. The 
young grass was starred with dandelions and the 
small pink and white French daisies. Dominating 
each group of station buildings stood great chestnut 
trees in full bloom. Upon spreading, broad-leaved 
branches were set thousands upon thousands of the 
stiff little floral candelabra, crowding so thickly that 
from a little distance each tree flashed like a pyra- 
mid of snow. 

Among them, John peered in vain for ‘^plat- 
forms.” These apparently had been reserved as the 
special prerogative of “ Robinson.” 

At Sceaux the tram was emptied. John loitered 
about the small town for a glimpse of the grounds. 


58 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


now a public park, that once surrounded the famous 
chateau of the Due de Maine, and then turning, by 
guide-book direction, into the Rue du Plessis Piquet 
— (he could never have summoned up the courage to 
ask for it) — walked briskly forward. 

Soon a cluster of trees so incredibly tall and white 
that they seemed an aggregation of giant tents, told 
him that his journey was nearing its end. ‘‘ Jour- 
neys end in lovers’ meeting,” came from somewhere, 
singing . through his brain. He laughed a little bit- 
terly at the sarcasm. Let him get through the day 
without a too-devastating attack of homesickness, 
and back to work in the morning; that was the best 
he could wish for. 

The “ wooded hill ” rose, according to schedule, 
just beyond. Groups of merry-makers, already pre- 
paring for a sylvan dejime, were spreading white 
cloths upon the grass and beginning to unpack neat 
hampers. “ The trees must all be full,” thought 
John, with dismay. A great chattering, as of hu- 
man sparrows, from the shady spaces overhead cor- 
roborated this apprehension. Looking up he saw 
children hanging precariously over rustic balconies, 
and noted, what had until then escaped him, that 
about the great bole of each tree wound a flight of 
narrow wooden steps. 

From tree to tree he wandered, his chin hopefully 
upturned, only to find them all pre-empted. A short 
distance up the hill-slope stood several white, one- 


WHAT BEFELL JOHN 


59 


storey restaurants with golden signs of invitation, 
disproportionately large. Before them were sanded 
terraces on which round iron tables and spidery 
chairs crowded thickly. Many of these also were 
occupied. Waiters, with the inevitable snowy servi- 
ette hung stiffly over the left arm, insinuated them- 
selves smilingly among the seated groups. 

John walked disconsolately to a far corner of a 
terrace. No one appeared to be conscious that he 
existed. He gazed, with even greater longing, into 
the trees. Now he felt an almost childish petulance. 
“ These idiots must come out here at daybreak,” he 
muttered. 

But there was no use loitering in the scene of his 
disappointment. He felt no inclination for luncheon 
so, throwing back his broad shoulders, he stepped 
out upon the slope to the right and began an ascent 
of the hill. 

His path, which had been a clean-cut diagonal, 
suddenly made a sharp turn upward, and appeared 
to lose itself among overhanging shrubs. Making 
his way slowly, he stumbled against the foot of a 
very dilapidated stairway that twisted in wedge- 
shaped, horizontal flanges up into a tree so old and 
bent and huge that it might easily have been great- 
grandfather to the flowering colony whose shining 
summits rose just beneath. 

“ What luck if this old behemoth should be 
empty ! ” the young man thought. He gave a quick. 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


60 

appraising glance aloft. The platform was indeed 
devoid of tenants. He could just see that aerial 
benches surrounded the great rough trunk. 

“ Good work ! ” he cried aloud, and, unheeding the 
danger of too precipitous an ascent, sprang upward 
gaily. 

The shaky ladder had curved twice, so that he 
emerged at a point just opposite that from which 
he had taken his first survey; and it was not until 
his entire six feet of Americanism stood upright on 
the shivering floor that he became conscious of a 
woman’s presence. 

She was seated, motionless and upright, against 
the tree. She did not move or speak at his instan- 
taneous recoil and suppressed cry of consternation. 
On the bench beside her lay her broad-brimmed hat. 
John, even in the first shock, was aesthetically con- 
scious of the beauty of its wreath of dull pink roses, 
and the long, drooping streamers of silvery grey. 
The lady was all in grey, the colour of the tree- 
shadows, and her face, with its pointed chin, was as 
white and delicate as the blossoms above her. Her 
mouth was straight, and had somehow a guarded 
look, but he could see how the corners of it were 
quivering in lurking amusement. 

‘‘ Oh ! I — I — heg your pardon,” he stammered, 
feeling backward, with one foot, for the stairs just 
quitted. I had no idea that the tree was occu- 
pied,” he went on, as she vouchsafed no word. “ I 


WHAT BEFELL JOHN 61 

looked before I came up. I assure you that I 
looked.” 

Still the lady did not speak. 

John retraced, miserably, two more of the creak- 
ing steps. His knees were now on a level with the 
platform, so that he could look more directly into 
the white, quiet face. Her lips had become grave; 
but her eyes, shadowed by a great mass of gold- 
brown hair, seemed to hold a smile of mockery. 

‘‘ Darn the woman ! Why couldn’t she say some- 
thing to help me from feeling quite such a fool? 
Even if she knew nothing but her own beastly, slip- 
pery language, she could be decently courteous in 
that.” 

Two more steps back and downward! John felt 
himself retreating into a martyr’s grave. His 
waistcoat buttons rasped against the projecting 
boards. With each inch of withdrawal he grew red- 
der and more indignant. His straw hat, which had 
been held deferentially in air, was now slapped back 
into place. 

“ I can’t speak your language, or I should have 
apologised in that,” he burst out, angrily. With the 
words he wrenched his eyes from hers, feeling them 
turned to more useful account in helping him de- 
scend the absurd stairway. To pitch headlong to 
earth, probably breaking a leg in the performance, 
and having to lie there prone until some Samaritan 
came along and carted him off to a hospital, and 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


62 

all the while that strange woman to sit overhead, 
motionless against her tree, smiling like a sibyl and 
staring out into space with great shadowed, mock- 
ing eyes, — no, — this would be a little more than 
human fortitude could stand! 

He turned his back deliberately. A sudden soft 
swish of silk told him that the Lady of the Tree 
had moved. Her voice, with its trace of foreign ac- 
cent, came softly. 

“ You are an American, are you not.? ” 

“ Yes,” said John, and paused. 

‘‘ The men of your country are to be trusted,” she 
remarked thoughtfully, as if to herself. 

John smiled by way of answer. He hoped it was 
a cynical and worldly smile. He would not meet her 
eyes again. On the other hand, he made no move 
toward the next step lower. It was ridiculous 
enough for a woman to be talking to his head and 
shoulders ; the head, alone, would be even more ab- 
surd. 

‘‘ This is the only tree in Robinson without the 
very large party in it,” the soft voice continued. 

If it is your desire to remain — ” A little French 
gesture, careless and utterly devoid of coquetry, 
completed the sentence. 

John turned to her a little unwillingly. He did 
desire to remain. He was conscious of desiring it 
greatly, and yet — 

‘‘ I fear that I could not help feeling myself an 
intruder,” he said, stiffly. 


WHAT BEFELL JOHN 


63 


The grey clad shoulders shrugged. It is as 
monsieur wishes, of course,” she rejoined, in a tone 
of light amusement. “ The tree is not mine.” 

As he still stared, frowning in indecision, she 
raised the brim of her recumbent hat and, draw- 
ing out a book, calmly opened it and began to 
read. 

John’s face burned as if she had struck it. He 
gave an angry downward thump. The board split 
under him. He drew back hastily and, throwing a 
hurried, angry glance to see whether his companion 
had noticed it, caught her as she pressed a scrap of 
linen against her lips to check their laughter. 

“ What an utter idiot you must be thinking me ! ” 
John blurted out. Any utterance, however crass, 
would be better than this clownish avoidance of 
facts. “ The truth is, I’m an utter stranger here. 
I have never spoken to a French lady before, and 
am absolutely at a loss how to behave.” 

‘‘ An American, — and at a loss ! ” she murmured, 
with a slight lift of the delicate brows. 

“ It’s the truth.” 

She started to reply, checked the words that 
parted her lips, and gave a low laugh. 

‘‘Don’t stop!” cried John, eagerly. Then he, 
too, laughed, and all at once the constraint fell from 
him. “ You were going to say something; and then 
you stopped.” 

She drooped her white lids. The most fascinat- 
ing, tiny of dimples showed at the upper left corner 


64 THE STRANGE WOMAN 

of her mouth. ‘‘ I fear it would have the sound of 
great rudeness.” 

“ Never mind. You couldn’t be any ruder than 
I’ve been. I want to hear.” 

‘‘ Then you shall,” she acquiesced, demurely. “ I 
was merely going to ask, monsieur, why, if you are 
at a loss when you arrive, — did you have the wish 
to arrive ? ” 

‘‘Arrive where?” he fenced. “Here at Robin- 
son’s, — or Paris ? ” 

“ Oh,” she rej oined, with her delicate shrug, 
“ anywhere, — that is away from America.” 

“ It was not for pleasure ; you can be sure of 
that,” the young man asseverated. “ I am here for 
hard work only.” 

At this she gave a long-drawn “ Ah-h-h ! ” and 
afterward questioned gently, though always with the 
little undercurrent of banter, “ and how long has 
it been ? This coming not-for-pleasure ? ” 

“ A whole year,” he groaned. “ A year to-day.” 

She was silent, but her dark eyes rested on him 
kindly. 

“ Then this day is by way of being the — what 
do you say — the anniversaree ? ” 

“ Yes,” he clipped briefly, and began to stare out 
among the branches. 

He felt that she leaned closer. “ And there are 
— at home in America — those you miss and care 
for? ” 


WHAT BEFELL JOHN 65 

“ Only my mother.” As an afterthought he flung 
in, “ and my friends.” 

She laughed softly. He had never before real- 
ised what subtle suggestions and intonations could 
be transmitted through a laugh. 

“ Ahe , — the pauvre friends,” she sighed. ‘‘ They 
do come so long a way after the — mother ! ” 

“ Well, they do ! ” he muttered, rather thickly. 
Something had suddenly risen in his throat. The 
strange woman’s voice, as she whispered the name 
“ mother,” vibrated like a harp string that stretched 
the length of his homesick soul. Through the deep 
silence that now fell he could hear the echoes shiver. 
He did not wish to speak, only to be there, silent, 
and listen as the harmonies faded, one by one. 

At length her voice came to him, — that wonder- 
ful, vibrant voice with its minor, upward lift. 

Do you chance to know well the Galerie du Lux- 
embourg.? ” 

John pulled himself together with a start. At 
first her question seemed a discord. 

No,” he managed to answer. “ I have never 
been there.” 

“ I should have thought — ” she began, then again 
checked herself. This was, apparently, a little man- 
nerism of her own. 

“ Yes,” he queried, politely. 

“ I asked, monsieur,” she explained, gently, “ be- 
cause there is in the Galerie du Luxembourg the most 


66 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


tender and beautiful portrait of a mother in the 
whole world. It is of the great artist, Whistler.” 

‘‘I have heard of it, of course,” he said with an 
attempt at commonplaceness. As he spoke, he 
passed his hand along his forehead and up through 
the thick clustering hair. ‘‘ Once or twice I 
started, just to see that picture, but — somehow — ” 
Already he had caught her trick of stopping short. 

To this she said nothing. John, seating himself 
for the first time, looked squarely into the face now 
on a level with his own. Was it his imagination, or 
did she imperceptibly shrink away.?’ And was that 
a look of hurt, almost of fear, that deepened in her 
eyes ? 

“Are you too parted from a mother that you 
love ? ” he broke out, as if impelled. 

Now the shrinking was unmistakable. She took 
her eyes from his, and straightened her shoulders 
against the tree. “ I have no mother,” she answered, 
in a colourless voice. “ She is dead.” 

John bit his under lip, and cursed himself for a 
clumsy fool. “ I cannot tell you how sorry — ” he 
was beginning, when she cut him short. It was but 
a single gesture, an imperious lifting and downward 
stroke of the hand. John fancied that he saw the 
gleam of a dagger. 

“ Cause yourself no distress, monsieur.” Her 
words, too, had the glint of steel. “ I did not love 
my mother while she lived.” 

Again silence fell. A chill, as of autumn, crept 


WHAT BEFELL JOHN 


67 


into it. From a great distance could be heard the 
chime of human laughter, the click of knives and 
forks against porcelain, and the hoot of a motor- 
horn speeding toward them on the road from Sceaux. 

Unable to endure the strain, John rose and walked 
to the edge of the platform. 

“ That is well,” the clear, icy tones encouraged 
him. “ Please feel yourself entirely at ease, mon- 
sieur. I will now resume my book, — a French 
novel, of course.” Her brief laugh was a sting. 

The young man half circled the tree, taking his 
place on the bench as far away from his companion 
as was possible. He was repelled, and in some 
vague, yet poignant way, cheated. Why should she 
have said thus openly, to a stranger, that she had 
not loved her mother.? It would scarcely have been 
worse had she stated a disbelief in God! Probably 
she was one of those “ advanced ” women thinkers 
who take delight in outraging the creeds and sensi- 
bilities of others. Certainly she did not look like 
his preconceived idea of a suffragette, or even an 
atheist. But what need to tell him that about her 
mother.? And the parting fling about the book was 
almost childish. To John’s western mind all mod- 
ern French novels were merely text-books for sensu- 
alists. She was evidently determined to foster no 
illusions. 

He sat very still. From time to time she turned 
a page. As far as she was concerned, he had al- 
ready ceased to exist. Once, as the breeze fresh- 


68 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


ened, there was a great flutter of paper, followed 
by a slap, and an impatient French exclamation; 
after which the rhythmic, slow turning went on. 

The moments passed — whether swiftly or tardily 
he had no power to determine. The thought of 
looking at his watch did not occur. In spite of what 
he consciously termed his disappointment, there was 
unmistakable excitement in knowing that she was 
so near, that he had only to lift his voice and she 
would answer him. But did he wish further speech 
with so unnatural a woman.? 

A soft rustling of silk warned him that she had 
risen. He held his breath to follow every sound. 
The book was laid down with a soft thud, and now, 
evidently, she was taking up her hat. The process 
of readjusting this very charming article of attire 
was a lengthy one. She seemed hours at it. Now 
she was on her feet, moving across the boards. Was 
it not a matter of sheer decency that he should offer 
to assist her down the precarious wooden cork- 
screw? 

He was bending forward to rise, when suddenly 
she stood before him, tall, slender and grey-clad, 
against the green and white tapestry of the branches. 

No, monsieur. Remain seated. It is my 
wish,’^ she commanded. The swift dagger-gesture 
pinned him to the bench. ‘‘ I am now to depart — 
alone. But first — it is for my own satisfaction — 
I desire to say two things.” 

You need not fear that I shall attempt to ac- 


WHAT BEFELL JOHN 


69 


company you,” exclaimed John. “ But in the part 
of the world where I come from, men don’t remain 
seated while women stand.” At the words he sprang 
up, his hat held aside, his eyes, rather stem and 
masterful, set squarely on hers. 

‘‘ As you will,” she shrugged. 

‘‘ Well, I am listening.” 

She gave him a long look. Her flexible lips trem- 
bled with something like scorn, but which quickly 
changed to pathos. ‘‘ This book,” she began, ex- 
tending it toward him. It was silly and untrue to 
call it a novel.” 

He took it into his hand. ‘ The Divine Mys- 
tery,’ by Allen Upward,” he read aloud. ‘‘And in 
English!” 

“ Yes, it is such books that I read. But when 
I saw I had given you the shock — a foolish desire 
came — well, never mind! As to the thing that 
shocked you — 

In the pause, her eyes fell, and when she spoke 
her voice held bitterness, but an intense sorrow. “ It 
has been the tragedy of all my life that I could not 
love my mother. You are the happy one, mon- 
sieur.” 

Swiftly as a shadow passes, she was gone. 

Involuntarily the young man moved to the other 
side of the tree. At the top step she paused, look- 
ing around over one shoulder. “ Perhaps there is 
a third thing to say,” she smiled, though her eyes 
were still dark and tragic. 


70 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


‘‘You took me for a Frenchwoman, — but I am 
American — all — all American ! ” she laid one slen- 
der hand upon her heart. “And I am as friend- 
less here as yourself.” 


CHAPTER VI 


WHISTLER’S PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 

In reviewing through many hours to come the events 
of that memorable day, John was never quite clear 
as to the manner in which the remainder of it 
passed. 

There was a hazy impression of slowly gathering 
darkness and a shrill tree-toad. Then he had me- 
chanically descended, step by step, the winding lad- 
der and, making his way to the well-nigh deserted 
terraces, ordered the first articles of food that came 
into his dazed mind. He had eaten mechanically, 
without caring what it was his knife cut or his fork 
lifted. 

His brain was a forest in which all the shy hidden 
denizens had been suddenly aroused. Thoughts and 
startled imaginings peered, as it were, from secret 
nooks, and a covey of the bolder stepped forth, fol- 
lowing into the open the trail of a shadow-grey, 
swaying figure, crowned with pink roses. If, for a 
moment, the questing fancies paused, one turn of 
the white, pointed chin over a shadow shoulder, and 
they rushed forward in a more ardent pursuit. 

Each word that had been spoken, the intonation 
of every sentence, not only of the Strange Woman, 
but his own halting, inadequate speech was regis- 
71 


73 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


tered in memory as though upon the steel disc of a 
phonograph. 

Now he began to recast, in more telling phrases, 
his share of the brief, unsatisfactory dialogue. 
“ Wit,” according to the French cynic, ‘‘ can be de- 
fined as something brilliant one might have said, — 
and didn’t ! ” John was to prove for himself, many 
times over, the truth of this discouraging axiom. 
He grew bitterly resentful of his own narrow and 
unsympathetic attitude. The disclosure which, at 
the onset, had instinctively repelled him, became 
gradually the source of an almost tender compassion. 
How swift he had been to misjudge! 

He had dared to think that high, free soul indeli- 
cate when, from the first, it was he who had been 
crude, — a conventional prig, a dull, self-righteous 
Pharisee ! Had he not shut his warped mind against 
her as a hypochondriac, at the first breath of pure 
air, hastens to lower his creaking window, he might 
have found words of solace and of strength. 

She, too, was lonely. How her dark eyes had 
deepened as she said it! Fate, itself, had perhaps 
brought them together, and he, by his shallow 
bigotry, had let the opportunity go by. With each 
recurrence of this devastating thought, John cursed 
himself. 

Yes, she was gone! Gone as utterly and irre- 
vocably as the gleam of a bird’s wing over water. 
While he had stared at the bright reflection, debat- 
ing whether or not it was quite to be desired, the 


PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 


73 


winged guest had vanished. Well, he deserved it. 
Regret was worse than useless. She was out of his 
grey life forever, and had left no clue, not even that 
of a name. In this huge ferment of a city there 
was not one chance in millions that they would meet 
again. To attempt to do so would be as useless as 
regret, and more humiliating. Yet at the moment 
of making this despondent asseveration he was con- 
scious, down in his heart, that next Sunday would 
find him early at the chestnut tree. 

He did not turn his care-laden shoulders away 
from Robinson until the suburban arc lights had 
begun to flash, and the sky above distant Paris trem- 
bled into a dome of faint, ethereal radiance. During 
the tram-ride home he found himself looking about, 
like a love-sick schoolboy, for the hope of a glimpse 
of long grey draperies and a pink-wreathed hat. 

Alighting at St. Germain-des-Pres he made his 
way to the pavement in such unseeing haste that he 
very nearly overturned the wheeled booth of an old 
flower-seller, just rearranging her wares for decamp- 
ment. Among the blue ragged-robins and stiff yel- 
low iris, his eye caught a mass of close-set roses. 
Pointing toward them, he tried to ask the price. As 
if released by a spring, the old crone wheeled about, 
exploding into the geyser of liquid vocables that his 
soul dreaded. John smiled deprecatingly and shook 
his head, to let her know he couldn’t understand. 
At this her cracked voice leaped higher. She made 
wild gesticulations toward her store, apparently giv- 


74 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


ing the pedigree of each separate bloom. John 
drew out a franc which he held conspicuously in his 
left hand while, with the right, he leaned over, select- 
ing a modest posey. Ear from being placated either 
by John’s franc or his restraint, the beldame’s ex- 
citement flared into a veritable St. Vitus dance of 
rage. She tossed her lean arms like branches, and 
seemed to be calling down the heavens as witness to 
the effrontery of this American who had dared to 
offer a daughter of France so paltry a coin. 

A gendarme, wearing soiled red trousers and a 
bored expression, sauntered up to them. By this 
time a ring of amused, partly contemptuous onlook- 
ers had gathered. John, now as red as the trousers, 
though more cleanly, attempted to explain, by ges- 
tures, the facts of the absurd situation. The officer 
nodded, took the franc between a distasteful thumb 
and a crooked forefinger, tossed it directly into the 
woman’s distorted face, and then gave a brief, per- 
emptory command. Still muttering objurgations in 
which the word “ Americaine ” was most frequently 
to be heard, the old witch caught up the entire mass 
of roses, which she held with obvious unwillingness 
toward John, her small black eyes flashing fury. 
The young man took about a third, thanked the 
policeman, and fled down the nearest side street. 

“ Whew ! ” he said aloud, as the last excited voice 
behind him faded. “ That was a hard-won victory, 
and the reward isn’t much, after all.” 

He glanced down at his doubtful prize. In the 


PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 


75 


dusk of the secluded street they made scarcely a blur 
of white. He lifted them tentatively, half-minded to 
fling them away; but, as if in protest, a faint, ex- 
quisite odour began to rise. He had not noticed 
there in the chestnut tree that the Strange Woman 
had worn perfume. In fact, he was certain that 
she was not the sort of a woman addicted to scent 
bottles, and yet, when she had moved, — especially 
that time she had leaned so close and whispered the 
word ‘‘ mother,’’ — there had been about her a subtle 
essence distilled in the same Persian garden where 
these roses grew. 

As he entered the hallway and began the ascent 
of his narrow stairs, the fragrance mounted with 
him. On reaching his room, he first turned on every 
light and then stared about for some vessel or utensil 
in which his now-cherished booty could be placed. 
There was nothing at all but the washbowl and 
pitcher. He took the former, placed it in the centre 
of his draughting-board, filled it with water and ar- 
ranged, with care, each separate spray. 

That night John’s sleep was restless. He 
dreamed incessantly a series of disconnected hap- 
penings chiefly concerned with gesticulating crones, 
sneering gendarmes, creaking stairways and drifting 
chestnut florets. For the first time in many months 
his last waking thoughts had been neither of home, 
nor a resume of the following day’s work. 

Next morning he woke early. There was an un- 
familiar presence in the room. Lifting his head he 


76 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


saw the roses. He sank back with a smile. At least 
he had caught a feather from the lost vision’s wing! 

When Felice entered with the coffee she, too, 
sniffed the spicy air. At sight of the washbowl, a 
gleam of Eve’s knowledge flickered in her eyes, to 
be at once smothered under discreetly drooping lids. 
To her French mind the pink roses had but one pos- 
sible meaning, and in her overworked soul she was 
glad for the lonely young monsieur. 

All during the week John worked as never before. 
If, at times, the straight lines of an Ionic column 
threatened to waver into soft draperies, he only 
laughed, and held his ruler in a tightened grasp. 
More than once his French instructor was surprised 
into that potent word of commendation “ gentile.” 
The other fellows may have scowled with added 
ferocity, but John did not see them. The days went 
by with incredible swiftness. 

During the middle of the week the thought came 
to him that he knew very little of Paris as a whole. 
A few streets immediately surrounding his lodgings 
and the Ecole formed his only familiar ground. It 
was for convenience that he had chosen the district 
west of the Seine, known as the Left Bank ; and while 
the Bohemian Latin Quarter seldom saw him he was 
well aware that the fashionable dwellers on the other 
side of the river generally referred to their own 
district as the “ Right Bank,” and that in which he 
lived the “ Wrong.” 

Topographically, at least, the favoured “ Right ” 


PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 


77 


one could be achieved by the mere passage on foot, 
across the little iron bridge called “ Pont des Arts.” 
Its farther end led almost to the steps of the Louvre, 
from which a walk to the Jardin du Tuileries and 
the Champs Elysee would occupy but a few brisk mo- 
ments. 

Having made this resolution, John left his work 
an hour early and went to his lodgings where he 
donned his “ Sunday clothes,” completing the smart 
effect by a cluster of tiny roses in his buttonhole. 
The perfect spring weather was in itself an invita- 
tion. The young man swung along whistling, under 
his breath, snatches of tunes learned at home. 
Strangely enough, however, it was not of home that 
he was thinking. In crossing the bridge he paused 
to look down from the iron hand-rail to the crowded 
excursion boats ” which spring brings out upon 
the Seine as surely as it does the green leaves upon 
the trees. At the very prow of a specially smart 
and shining little craft his eye caught the upper sur- 
face of a pink parasol. He frowned, and began to 
watch it as a terrier does a rat-hole. The day was 
suspended; he would know no peace until he could 
see just what sort of a pleasure-seeker that bright 
convex bubble hid. A sudden lilt of wind, and side- 
wise dip of the parasol disclosed an extremely solid 
French maman ” gowned in yellow. At this he 
drew a quick breath, as of relief, and then, realising 
the import of his emotions, coloured like a schoolboy, 
uttered an impatient “ T-s-c-h ! ” and hurried on. 


78 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


not pausing again until the broad thoroughfare of 
the Champs Elysees was reached. 

Here, too, there were chestnut trees, a double row 
of them at each side, but trees so meticulously 
clipped, so identical in height, shape and apparently 
in the number of stiffly upheld racemes of flowers, 
that they hardly appeared to be a living growth, 
rather as a sort of daylight candelabra stuck regu- 
larly into the earth. 

In the shade of one of these pretences, and quite 
near to the curb, he acquired, for the sum of two 
centimes an hour, one of the spidery iron chairs. 
The inevitable small table was near. He ordered a 
cafe au lait, tipped everybody within reach, and then 
settled himself to the enjoyment of watching. A 
slow-moving, incessant stream of open carriages and 
motor-cars drove past him, making for the fashion- 
able Bois de Boulogne. Exquisitely dressed women 
leaned back among cushions, their faces set into white 
and faintly smiling masks, but their eyes alert. 
Often with them were children, charming children, 
as composed and perfectly attired as their elders. 
John’s honest heart shrank a little to note how many 
of the little girls were painted, and had about their 
childish eyes the dark, outlining charcoal lines of 
black. Sometimes there wuuld be a man along, but 
no one, especially in Paris, ever noticed the accom- 
panying man. 

In spite of this entertainment, John returned 


PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 79 

home feeling that his venture had not been altogether 
a success. 

Again on Saturday afternoon he sought the arti- 
ficial chestnut tree and the spidery seat, and again 
returned unsatisfied. Sunday morning he dressed 
early. Felice, noting that the washbowl had been 
kept refilled during the week with fresh roses, felt 
that she knew the reason of his haste. To himself 
he admitted a curiosity to learn how early those 
French idiots really went to Robinson, in order to 
pre-empt the trees. But before starting out to solve 
this perplexing question, there was a letter from his 
mother that must be answered. 

He drew it out from the allotted pigeon-hole, and 
began a third reading. It was the usual gentle, 
desultory chronicle of small domestic events, tran- 
scribed in the old-fashioned, sloping hand that always 
made him think of thin grass bent all one way in an 
autumn wind. A bit of local gossip was occasionally 
slipped in. “ Walter has sold another factory site 
down near the river flats. I understand it is for 
making brooms. The last was cider vinegar. It 
is a very good thing for the town to have so many 
factories. Your Uncle Walter is becoming a very 
successful man.” 

It was rarely that she transcribed unsavoury 
news. John, frowning over the next item, felt that 
matters were indeed bad with the Armstrongs, if 
his little mother had allowed herself to speak so 


80 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


freely. “ Delphi is full of disturbing rumours about 
May Armstrong and her husband. Public opinion 
is much divided. I have not been willing to listen 
to details, for I wish to be friends to both, and if 
possible, be able to do something toward their recon- 
ciliation. But Clara tells me that May is on the 
point of starting to Reno. I trust that this is a 
mistake. Divorce is a terrible thing, no matter what 
the cause. A woman who has taken a man for bet- 
ter or worse, in God’s sight, should cleave to him 
through everything.” 

John sighed as he turned this page, and wished 
that the Strange Woman had told him a little more. 

On the third page was a statement which, a week 
earlier, would have brought him a thrill of excited 
pleasure. “Now I have something to say that will 
really interest you. About an hour ago young 
Charles Abbey rushed in. The lad is almost beside 
himself with joy. His mother has practically prom- 
ised to let him go abroad this year, starting in July. 
I do not feel quite certain that she will do so, and 
neither does Charles, but at least there is a greater 
probability than ever before. Mrs. Abbey is a 
worthy, intellectual woman, and I believe she means 
to be a good mother, but I can’t help feeling that 
she treats Charles too much like a child. How can 
she expect ever to be as proud of him as I am of my 
boy, if she gives him no chance of developing his own 
character? ” 

“ God bless that mother o’ mine ! ” exclaimed 


PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 


81 


John, fervently and aloud. ‘‘ I wonder how it hap- 
pens that she has so much more sense than all the 
other women in Delphi ! ” 

But Charlie’s coming 1 That needed to be 
thought over. Even if old ‘‘ tight-wad ” — for it 
was by this opprobrious term that John usually 
thought of Mrs. Abbey — finally decided to unloose 
her purse and apron-strings at once, — it would not 
be until July. A few weeks still remained to the 
present month. 

“ Oh, well,” said John, throwing back his head as 
one does when a decision has been reached, “ I hope 
he will ! It will be bully to see somebody right from 
home. And, by, say, the middle of July — ” 
Thought and speech were checked by a single rein. 
Even to himself he did not wish to say, “ If, by the 
middle of July I have caught no glimpse of her, I 
shall feel the quest over.” 

He bent to his desk, and plunged into the letter. 
The excursion of the previous Sunday was given at 
length. Pie described the happy French groups, the 
old trees, the wealth of snowy flowers and the quaint 
tree-platforms. Of the Strange Woman no word 
was written. When this was finished, he dashed off 
a bright, cordial note to Charlie, urging him to 
hurry over, and saying that doubtless lodgings for 
him could be found under the same roof. 

His scribal duties over, he leaned for a cluster of 
the roses — this rite was becoming a habit — and 
started off for Robinson. 


82 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


The big tree, so eagerly sought, was indeed un- 
occupied, and all day long, except for his solitary 
presence, remained so. At the luncheon hour he de- 
scended gloomily. After the lonely meal he wan- 
dered about, and finally achieved the intention, so 
brilliantly frustrated the week before, of mounting 
to the very summit of the wooded hill. 

The following week crawled by slowly. Once 
more he went to the Champs Elysees ; and this time 
‘‘ blew himself,” as he would have said, for a taxi. 
Recklessly unheeding the regular tick of the taxi- 
metre, he drove to the end of the Bois and back. 
The exorbitant bill was paid without protest, and 
the scowl accompanying the transaction was engen- 
dered less by outraged thrift than sentient disap- 
pointment. 

On the following Sunday — though he had as- 
sured himself more than once that nothing should 
induce him to take a trip in the direction of the now- 
hated Robinson — somehow he arrived there, again 
at an early hour. By this, self-deception was 
abandoned. Grimly he faced the facts, and even 
more grimly promised’ himself that, against this 
day’s banality should be written, in large letters, the 
words, “ Never again.” He returned to his lodg- 
ings early and flinging himself upon the bed aban- 
doned himself to the bitter luxury of homesickness 
arid desolation. 

The third Sunday was ushered in with a steady 
downpour of rain. While still in bed John heard 


PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 


83 


the patter against his windows and the dismal 
gurgling in the comer down-spout. He told him- 
self that he was glad. Of course it was not con- 
ceivable that he should have started a third time for 
that wretched, gnarled, ear-wiggy chestnut tree. 
Nevertheless he was pleased to hear rain. 

He did not leave his rooms until the luncheon hour. 
It was hard work to make his letter for the day a 
cheerful one. During the writing, however, he 
thanked Heaven several times over that he had not 
mentioned the Strange Woman to his mother. 

A second letter was written to Charlie and after 
that an urgent one to Charlie’s mother. By now 
the hope of the boy’s coming seemed the one human 
gleam in the dark social firmament above him. Even 
were it but to be companionship at his lonely, de- 
tested meals, the thought was enough to cheer. 

He glanced toward the clock. Already it was 
after one. He might as well go out to ‘‘ feed ” and 
have it over. He threw on his tan raglan, caught 
up the small waterproof hat that went with it, and 
started out with the half-formed determination of 
turning in ” at the first opened door, whether of 
wine-shop, 'patissierie, or cafe. Eating was a bore 
at best. 

The carrying out of this desultory programme 
found him seated near the door of a very modest 
restaurant on the Rue Visconti. The rain now flung 
itself down in flat sheets. He gained a melancholy 
satisfaction in watching the streaming umbrellas 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


84i 

pass, and noting the bent, protesting shoulders of 
the persons bearing them. In fancy he heard the 
drip of rain among broad chestnut leaves. There 
would be rivulets, black and tortuous, coursing 
along the rugged bark, and a mournful chorus of 
tree-toads overhead. On the sodden platform, dank 
florets would be crushed as by a high-heeled grey 
suede shoe. How foolish the old trees must be feel- 
ing! If any one were mad enough to visit them 
to-day, she could be sure of no intrusion. 

All at once the rain ceased. The proprietor 
ambled smilingly toward his one guest, rubbing his 
hands together, and, to judge by the excited nods 
he gave toward the doorway, congratulating John 
that the unpleasant weather was coming to an end. 
The young man achieved something in the nature of 
a smile, and tried to look as though he understood. 
By the time his bill was paid, and the sky again over 
him, he saw that indeed the heavy clouds were part- 
ing, and brilliant patches of blue showed here and 
there. Instead of being pleased, John muttered 
anathemas against the improved condition. Well, 
at any rate it was now late in the day for Robinson. 
There would be no driving in the Bois. He walked 
on, with no sense of direction, until he saw the one 
finished tower of St. Sulpice. He was in the little 
Rue de Vaugirard, and down a short vista appeared 
the open portals of some public building. The 
Galerie du Luxembourg ! Of course it was here. 


PORTRAIT OF HIS MOTHER 


85 


And what an ideal afternoon for his first glimpse of 
the mother picture ” ! 

Cheered by the acquisition of an objective, he hur- 
ried forward. He had been vaguely aware that the 
Luxembourg was a small gallery, but in spite of the 
preknowledge, now paused in something like won- 
der at the unpretentious, almost domestic appear- 
ance of its low-fronted pile. The halls within were 
not as large as those of many residence chateaux. 

The corridor and its small, branching rooms held, 
apparently, nothing but sculpture. In common with 
other arrogant young men of his profession John 
granted to this art a right to exist chiefly as an ad- 
dition to, or embellishment of, architecture. The 
one exception to this arbitrary rule was in the case 
of portrait sculpture. He came to an involuntary 
standstill before Rodin’s marvellous personification 
of Victor Hugo, and conceded, rather grudgingly, 
a thrill at sight of the sensuous, exquisite “ kiss.” 
Deliberately turning his back on further tempta- 
tions, he strode into the picture gallery, moving, by 
instinct, toward that long, cool western wall upon 
which hangs one of Whistler’s supreme creations. 

At his first sight, John felt a little dizzy. He 
closed his eyes, and stretched a hand out gropingly 
toward the cushioned back of a long, red seat, placed 
there for the benefit of those who wish to brood and 
ponder on this picture. He did not sit, only, for 
an instant, steadied himself, and then moved slowly 


86 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


forward. “ Is it not one of the miracles,” some- 
thing at his elbow seemd to murmur, “ that the hu- 
man, the immortal note should be so sustained, and 
yet the great creative impulse not be cooled or low- 
ered? ” 

The tone was gentle, friendly, and as casual as 
though resuming a sentence just interrupted. 

John did not dare to look. He had been self- 
tricked too often. Of course it was exactly the kind 
of thing she would have said, granting for the mo- 
ment the bodily presence of the not-impossible she. 

The voice came again, this time in low laughter. 

Many have found it overwhelming. You are quite 
pale, m’sieur! Will you not come to the bench until 
your faintness passes ? ” 


CHAPTER VII 


JOHN ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 

It was all true, then, and no mere figment of an ex- 
cited imagination. The enhanced perfume, rising 
to his nostrils, came neither from his own small clus- 
ter nor from the garden of his dreams. 

At last he found courage to turn. The long, grey 
lines were moving from him toward the couch; the 
pointed chin above the grey shoulder beckoned. He 
followed, still walking like a man in a trance. 
Again he heard the soft, slightly mocking laugh. 
The sound pricked him. He squared his jaw, an- 
grily calling himself a fool. What was the power 
of this Strange Woman that the mere fact of her 
presence should rob him both of manners and self- 
control ? 

She seated herself with her usual slow ease. Tak- 
ing his position at a slightly ungracious distance he 
leaned forward, and deliberately focussed his mind 
and his thoughts upon the canvas. He found, much 
to his satisfaction, that its power went far toward 
nullifying the magnetic “ pull ” of his now silent 
and motionless companion. His eyes fed hungrily. 
This was not merely Whistler’s mother, but a com- 
posite, a magical transfiguration of all gentle, de- 
87 


88 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


voted, home-staying mothers of all the world. The 
picture might well have been painted in Delphi. 

Now his attention, so strenuously set, began to 
waver. He tried in vain to hold it to a focus. The 
Strange Woman had not moved or spoken ; he could 
see nothing of her but the pointed toe of a grey 
shoe, yet he was poignantly conscious of the fact 
that she was watching him. It was a brief struggle, 
and the human presence won. He wheeled about 
with disconcerting swiftness, but the steady eyes un- 
der the wide hat-brim did not falter. His own flick- 
ered once, and he felt the blood surge into his face, 
but he forced himself into as steady a returning 
gaze. There was just visible, through her thick 
lashes, the faintly amused, ironic regard which 
matched the tone of voice that always stung him. 
This was the time, if ever, to prove himself a man. 

‘‘ Since you were kind enough to speak to me just 
now,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “ I 
hope I do not presume too much in thinking that 
you are willing to be friends, or, at least,” he added, 
“ to be acquaintances.” 

Her eyes went to the picture. He felt a small 
thrill of elation. This was his first triumph. Al- 
ways, before, it had been his eyes that turned away. 

“ You know nothing at all of me,” she said in an- 
swer. 

“ I know enough. You are an American, and you 
are lonely. Please say that we may be friends,” he 
pleaded. 


ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 89 


Now she slowly faced him. Her lips had taken 
on a straight line. 

“ I am John Hemingway. John Hemingway, of 
Delphi, Iowa,” he hurried on, as if wishing to retard 
her decision. ‘‘ Doesn’t that combination make you 
smile? ” 

She shook her head slightly. Her eyes were dark 
and grave. ‘‘ I am Inez de Pierrefond,” the vibrant 
voice stated. “ Several years ago I left the man 
to whom I was married. De Pierrefond was my 
maiden name. I am called Madame de Pierrefond.” 

John held himself well in hand. Somehow, all 
along, he had known that she was married. There 
was something in the wistful, charming face that did 
not belong to happy girlhood. 

Marriage is an experience yet before me,” he re- 
sponded, in a pleasant, commonplace tone. 

The steady eyes continued to search his very soul. 

“ Among good, conventional women, such as 
that ” — she gave a swift gesture toward the picture 
— “ you know well how such a step as mine is re- 
garded.” 

A certain phrase in his mother’s last letter shot 
through the young man’s mind. In spite of it he 
managed to answer, in the same even voice, ‘‘ Each 
person lives his own life.” 

I deliberately left my husband. I deserted him,” 
she persisted. 

John gave an impatient movement of the shoul- 
ders. “What of it? It surely is no affair of mine.” 


90 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Then, as she seemed determined to adhere to the som- 
bre topic, he added, “ Doubtless you had excellent 
reasons.” 

‘‘ The world — your world — Monsieur ’Eming- 
way, might not so think.” 

“ For the present moment, at least, I have no 
world but this. You and I are its only occupants. 
Say that we can be friends.” 

“ It is assured that still you wish it.?^” 

‘‘ Still wish it ! Of course. Why not ! ” he re- 
monstrated. Then, seeing that the shadow did not 
lift, he broke out, vehemently. Look here! What 
sort of a narrow-minded cad do you take me for, 
anyway ? ” 

‘‘ You informed me, — of Delphi, Iowa,” she mur- 
mured, and his heart gave a sudden leap at sight of 
a tiny, recalcitrant dimple. 

‘‘ That’s enough to account for anything,” he ad- 
mitted, with a grin. Now let’s see if you are any 
better off. I’ll dare you to tell me the name of your 
home town.” 

‘‘ Oh, mine,” she smiled. Mine is not by way 
of being a town at all. It was a beeg plantation — 
a sugar plantation — in southern Louisiana.” 

‘‘ A pretty far cry from Delphi, I must allow,” he 
laughed. ‘‘ It doesn’t sound like America at all.” 

‘‘ It is not America. Jt is the South,” she an- 
swered, composedly. 

“ Oh, come now. There’s no North or South any 
longer. We’re just one big country.” 


ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 91 


Yet it was you who just said, it had not the 
sound of America.” At his discomfiture she laughed, 
a little shaking, gurgling laugh, like that of a child. 

John looked like a sheepish schoolboy. “You 
score one,” he grimaced. “ As you are strong, be 
merciful, and tell me more about it. Was yours, like 
mine, a happy childhood ” 

“ Yes, — it was most happee,” she answered, slowly. 
“ But it is very far away.” 

The brooding look stole back. John felt that he 
could not endure another lapse into gloom. He cast 
about, desperately, for some new, inocuous train of 
thought. 

“ You mus not forget,” the low voice beside him 
now reiterated, “ that I left my husband voluntarily.” 

He had been too slow for her. “ Oh, hang 
your — ” he burst forth ; then checking himself, stam- 
mered, “ I beg your pardon. I meant to say, never 
mind him. You are free now.” 

“ There was never a divorce.” The crisp words 
came like hail from a summer sky. 

John scowled into space. His eyes fell on the 
portrait which, for a few moments, had been forgot- 
ten. Not realising just why he did so, he stood up. 
The long, grey figure rose beside him. 

“ Ah ! It is not well for the good maman to hear 
the uglee word — divorce,” she deprecated, mock- 
ingly. With a little shrug she swept past and be- 
fore him, making for the exit. 

John strode in pursuit. He laid a detaining hand 


92 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


upon her arm. She wheeled, with flashing eyes. 
“ Monsieur ! ” she exclaimed, giving a look downward 
to the offending hand. 

But John had a temper of his own. 

“ Madame de Pierrefond,” he said sternly, “ we 
are going to have this out here and now. I asked 
for your friendship ; but I don’t want it at the price 
of my self-respect.” 

‘‘ No.?^ ” she derided, as if in utter astonishment. 

‘‘ You intrigue me, monsieur ! And what, if it is 
safe to ask, do you consider the necessaree precau- 
tions for your self-respect.? ” 

He did not answer for some moments but, instead, 
drew back, looking down steadily upon her. 

To-day the grey draperies were subtinted and shot 
through with silvery pink. At her belt she wore a 
cluster of pink roses that might have grown on the 
same vine with those in the buttonhole of the man 
who now so sternly regarded her. She was more 
charming, more graceful and more exasperating than 
all his memories. 

In spite of her icy composure, the strain began to 
tell. 

“ Well, monsieur,” she taunted, ‘‘ having fully ap- 
praised me — ” An outflung hand completed the 
sentence. 

“ For one thing,” he stated, “ I don’t care to be 
called monsieur.” 

“ I wasn’t aware — ” she murmured, with super- 
cilious brows. 


ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 93 

An impatient exclamation broke from her compan- 
ion. 

“ For another,” he continued, you are not to use 
that tone of voice.” 

“ It is my only voice, rCest-ce pas? ” 

“ But not your only tone. Of those you have sev- 
eral hundred thousand.” 

“ Merci hienl You overwhelm me,” she inter- 
posed, the essence of provocation in her face. All at 
once she drew her slender shoulders together and 
began to laugh. 

‘‘ I’m not specially keen on being laughed at, 
either,” blurted John. 

She assumed the pretence of disappointment. 
‘‘ So many restrictions ? I fear, monsieur — par- 
don — Mees-ter ’Emingway, — there are too much of 
them for — er — friendship.” 

That’s up to you, of course. May I have the 
pleasure of putting you into a taxi? ” 

“ Merci” she shrugged. 

They walked together through the halls. Pic- 
tures and sculpture were alike ignored. John, 
frowning more heavily than ever, looked straight be- 
fore him. As they reached the exit, Madame de 
Pierrefond spoke, making, in a casual tone, the brief, 
astonishing statement, My husband is dead.” 

There was nothing for John to reply. He tried 
to assure himself that, for him, the unsolicited fact 
held no interest. 

They emerged into a glory of sunshine. The stiff 


94i 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


little rose-trees leading up to the Luxembourg steps 
were each a compact sphere of colour. On the first 
terrace, Madame de Pierrefond came to a standstill. 
John, perforce, paused with her. Half unwillingly 
he turned to meet her upraised eyes. They were 
smiling, but in a way he had not seen before. All 
mockery was gone. ‘‘ I like you, Jean ’Emingway,” 
she said, holding forth a hand. “ Shall we now walk 
in the small Renaissance garden.^ ” 

John hesitated. “ Do you mean by this,” he stip- 
ulated, “ that you are willing to accept my terms ? ” 
She gave a spirited little toss of the head. Still 
guarding that threatened self-respect ” 

“ I merely want to be treated like a human being 
and not a clown.” 

“ It shall be so. I promise. Here is my hand 
upon it. I capitulate, and wave de w’ite flag.” 
Here she lifted a scrap of embroidered linen. ‘‘ Now 
I am friends wid you, and on your own terms.” 

‘‘ You can’t possibly realise what it means to me,” 
said John, earnestly. “ And only just now I 
thought I had lost you.” 

“ Only just now you have found me, John ’Em- 
ingway,” she corrected, rather gravely. 

After all,” he vindicated, leaning toward her as 
they strolled into the complicated garden walks, ‘‘ I 
wasn’t demanding anything unreasonable — only 
sincerity, and square dealing.” 

“ It is the best,” she stated, soberly. Then, with 
a flash of the mischievous smile, “ Was it not my 


ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 95 


outspokenness, that first day at Robinson, that 
shocked you ? ” 

It was — a little,” he admitted frankly. “ You 
see, I had never met a woman like you before. I 
v/as knocked off my pins. When I got home and be- 
gan to think it all over, I saw that you were right. 
I admired your honesty.” 

“ To be honest — to make no pretence or disguise 
of facts. That, too, is my idea of friendship. And 
because of that belief, I possess few friends.” 

Well, you possess me, now and forever, — if that 
means anything,” cried John. 

‘‘ Even though you are to have more shocks ? ” she 
queried, her eyes dancing. 

‘‘ Oh, I’m beginning to like shocks. It’s only ridi- 
cule that gets me.” 

“ That you shall not hear again,” she pledged him, 
softly. 

Their conversation, for the first hour, was little 
more than a series of questions and answers, dealing 
almost entirely with the childhood of each. The 
Luxembourg gardens filled quickly, now that the rain 
had stopped, and it was at Madame de Pierrefond’s 
suggestion that they strolled toward the Boulevard 
de St. Germain, in search of afternoon tea. 

What she termed the black spots ” of her life 
were touched upon with smiling lightness. “ Some 
day I shall tell you more,” she said. ‘‘ But not in 
this first hour of friendship.” She seemed to caress 
the idea of a new, real friendship as a child does a 


96 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


new toy, long desired. The play of her fancies was 
like silver gauze. John feasted eyes and ears upon 
her. At times her beautiful voice which, as he had 
stated, held a thousand modulations where most 
women had but one, cast over him a sort of hypnotic 
spell, so that he found himself dreaming to music, 
rather than listening to spoken words. 

Once when she chaffed him because of inattention 
he flushed, and looking squarely at her with brown, 
honest eyes, defended himself by saying, simply, 
‘‘ Your voice is so exquisite that sometimes I can’t 
hear you just for the pleasure of listening.” 

“ It must be that you have not known other South- 
ern women,” she mused. “We all have voices much 
alike.” 

“No, I haven’t,” he answered. “ The only girls 
I’ve known at all were Western ones. But honest, 
now, do you expect me to believe that any girl, just 
because she happened to be born south of the Mason 
and Dixon’s line is bound to have honey and flowers 
and harp-strings all mixed up in her voice.? ” 

Her cheeks slowly grew a deeper pink. “ Since we 
are to speak only the truth,” she replied, in obvious 
embarrassment, “ perhaps not every girl. You see, 
I am partly Creole, Oh, this is no shock ! ” she 
laughed merrily, noting his somewhat startled glance. 
“ The real meaning of Creole, as we use it, has noth- 
ing to do with negro blood. It is a term of pride, 
meaning descent from noble French and Spanish 
blood. My mother’s family kept their strain pure 


ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 97 


— that is,” she corrected, with a frown, “if any- 
thing essentially degenerate should be called pure. 
Unmeexed is a better word. She was very proud 
that she kept her noble blood unmeexed — until she 
broke tradition by marrying my father.” 

“ He was American? ” John flung out eagerly. 

“ All — all American, as I am — in spite of his 
French name. My mother’s people thought it the 
mesalliance 

The scorn with which she uttered this last word 
gave John his cue. 

“ Then you must be more like your father.” 

“ Oh, I ’ope so, — I ’ope so,” she cried, becoming 
more Continental in her excitement. “ That dear 
farzer, — he was my entire idol. I loved him greatly. 
I was fourteen when he dies. I mees him to the now 

— every minute. Had my farzer not died, — all the 
bad sings — ” 

She caught herself together, looking up at him 
with an apologetic little laugh. “ You must pardon 
me if I speak with such feeling. It has been a long 
time since I could mention my father’s name.” 

“ I feel honoured that you can to me,” said John, 
with deep earnestness. “ But you were telling how 
your voice came to be — ” 

She caught back a little sob, touched her eyes with 
the handkerchief and, in one of her swift, bewilder- 
ing transitions, turned a sparkling face. 

“ Ohe — yess — the voice ! It was of honey, you 
said, and flowers, and the strings of a banj o — ” 


98 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


‘‘ Harp, not banjo ! ” he corrected indignantly. 

“Yes — ’arp,” she amended, with contrition. 
“ Well, it was like — so.’* The small clasped hands 
went down into her lap as if to emphasise her state- 
ments. “ My mother, being an aristocrat, cared 
much for a low-toned voice and a clear enunciation. 
I was trained that way from babyhood. Also, as a 
child, I must speak Eenglish only to my father. Al- 
ways to la mere and les domestiques , — it was French. 
Domestiques mean servants,” she explained, de- 
murely. 

“ Even I know that much,” laughed John. 

“ Besides this, there was, for another reason — ” 
Now don’t hand out one of those shortstops of 
yours,” urged John. “ You always do it at the most 
interesting point. For another reason — ” 

“ Each summer of my life, as far back as I can 
remember, my mother and I, with several servants, 
came abroad, living in the old family chateau not far 
from here, — and in Paris I was given good masters 
in singii)g. I still can sing, — a little.” 

“ I wish I could hear you,” the young man cried, 
impulsively. 

“ Mais oui. And why not, — since we are 
friends ” 

“ Then you are going to let me call on you ? ” 

“ Certainment, — if you wish.” 

“ When?” 

She threw her head back, laughing. John could 
not help thinking that even the magic of Rodin had 


ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 99 


never evolved anything so white and graceful as her 
slender throat. 

‘‘ When do you wish, Jean ’Emingway ? ” 

‘‘ To-night. This very night,” he asserted, 
boldly. 

At this she drew back a little. Since you are to 
be in Paris free years more, and I — helas — ap- 
parently forever,” she said, “ why this need for so 
great haste? ” 

“ I suppose there isn’t any, — really. But you 
asked me when I wanted to come, and I told you. 
We have agreed always to speak the truth, haven’t 
we ? ” 

Yess,” she smiled. “ And you need not excuse. 
>I like the •verve — the — what do you say? — the 
impetuousness; but I mistrust it, just a little. On 
Wednesday evening you shall come, — that is,” she 
added, graciously, “ if by chance you are free.” 

“ Free ! I’m never anything else. ‘ Me this un- 
chartered freedom tires !’ ” he quoted, gaily. 

‘‘ Ah, Wordsworth. My best-loved of all poets,” 
she murmured, with a glance of such sweet commen- 
dation that the young man’s heart quivered. “ On 
Wednesday it is to be, then. I shall be glad to wel- 
come you, Jean ’Emingway.” 

“ I’ll show up on the stroke, even if I have to be 
carried on a stretcher,” declared John. 

She looked puzzled. “ Stretch — aire — stretch- 
aire — ” she echoed. ‘‘It is new American slang?” 

“ No, only personal exaggeration. A stretcher is 


100 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


a sort of canvas and pole bed on which they carry 
wounded men from a battle-field.” 

How very ungallant,” she teased. Am 1 a 
battle-field ? ” 

“ Perhaps. Who knows ? ” he began, but at her 
sudden change into gravity, hurried on. “No, I 
didn’t mean that. It was banal. You are Ponce de 
Leon’s spring, — the original Elysian field — ” 

She checked him by a gesture. “ You do not know 
everything about me. I have spared you the ‘ black 
spots.’ But some day, if we are to be sincerely 
friends, you must hear them too.” 

“ I don’t need to hear them,” protested John. “ I 
know you well enough now to feel that your friend- 
ship is to be the greatest pleasure that I can have, — 
something that I shall prize second only to my 
mother’s love.” 

Suddenly she rose. “ You have paid our small 
V addition, — yes.? Then I must now return. You 
are to have the pleasure at last ” — there was a mis- 
chievous emphasis on the word “ pleasure ” — “ of 
putting your friend into a taxi.” 

“But hold on!” curbed John. “You haven’t 
given me your address yet.” 

“ Ah, I am the stupid 1 ” she apologised. “ Take 
out the pencil. You can write it on the edge of this 
menu card.” 

“ As if I should need to write it,” he reproached. 

“ As you will,” she shrugged, her eyes beginning 
to dance. “ Here then, Meester ’Emingway.” 


ENTERS INTO AN AGREEMENT 101 


Speaking with incredible rapidity she flung out, in 
French, “ Madame de Pierrefond, nomhre cent-cm~ 
quant-cmq Rue de Beau-Ray onelle, au coin nord- 
ouest de la Concord de la Pleu, au rivage droit de 
Seine, Paris, France,'* 

Long before the last liquid syllable died, John’s 
hands were in the air. He staggered as one sud- 
denly overcome by heat. Help ! Help ! ” he be- 
sought, in a quavering voice. “ That has fixed me ! 
Please write it down. No, print it, so that the cab- 
driver may read.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


JOHN MAKES A CALL 

It was a private house at which the taxi-cab halted 
that memorable night. IVonder if it all belongs 
to her? ” John muttered, glancing up the four stories 
of the grey stone fa9ade. In each window was a box 
of growing flowers. Even by the artificial street- 
lights the place had a look which set it apart. 
Somehow it all should belong to her. Those flowers 
ought not to trail so joyously for a mistress less 
charming. But, if so, it meant that his new friend 
was a woman of wealth, and this fact was not re- 
assuring. 

John frowned in a puzzled way, and hesitated be- 
fore lifting his hand to the shining knocker. If she 
was, as it now seemed, a rich and fashionable woman, 
why had she not driven with the others in the Bois? 
And would such a person condescend to seek out 
little Robinson by way of a public conveyance? 
When she had left him that first time she had moved, 
on foot, in the direction of Sceaux. No motor-car 
or carriage had been waiting. 

“ Well,” said John to himself, with a little sigh, 
“ I am soon to find out.” He raised the knocker, 
and almost on the instant the door opened. A foot- 
102 


JOHN MAKES A CALL 


lOS 


man in grey livery inclined his stiff neck for about 
two inches, and then stepped back for the guest to 
enter. John, not knowing what else to do, presented 
a card, at which the servant, not deigning a glance 
toward it, bowed once more and rattled off something 
in French. 

John still remained on one spot, feeling uncom- 
fortable and a little ridiculous. 

“ Madame de Pierrefond,” he repeated, giving the 
name an emphatic upward slant. 

“ Oui, monsieur. Madame — she — ah — at the 
upstaire.” He gave a stiff motion with one hand. 

Seeing that the American still refused to stir, the 
footman allowed scorn and disgust to spread, in a 
thin yellow grease, across his wooden features. 
Catching his padded grey shoulders together, he held 
his head in an attitude as far removed as possible 
from the human, and began a jerky ascent. John 
followed meekly. 

At home, in Delphi, all ‘^parlours” were on the 
first floor, and as near to the entrance as architec- 
ture could make them. It was a new and disconcert- 
ing experience thus to be ushered, on a first visit, 
toward the presumably private regions of a lady’s 
‘‘ upstairs.” At the entrance of what appeared a 
long series of softly lighted rooms his guide halted 
and again gave two steps backward. The long grey 
legs had precisely the motion of a pair of scissor- 
blades. 

Looking within, John caught the effect of mist- 


104 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


grey hangings, wide floor-spaces carpeted with cool 
grey, and many notes of a delicate rose colour, given, 
as he afterward perceived, by vases, and jardineres 
of growing flowers. Besides the prevailing tints of 
rose, grey and silver which, left to themselves would 
have been a trifle commonplace, there was a fourth, 
one so unusual that only an artist could have dared 
it. This was green, a peculiar, living, joyous green, 
something like that of lily-of-the-valley foliage grown 
swiftly under glass. It peered at the edges of 
straight-hanging grey curtains, gleamed from a cabi- 
net of cloisonne ware, and was concentrated in a 
great square of Chinese brocade, flung across the 
back of a settle. 

All this John saw in a first hurried look. Then 
externals vanished, for he perceived a rose-coloured 
figure hastening toward him, and heard a low fa- 
miliar voice which said, “Welcome, Jean ’Eming- 
way.” 

She took his right hand in both her own. Her 
upturned smile was not merely that of a friend, for 
now she was hostess, making him feel that she was 
glad of his presence. 

He answered in some commonplace. 

“ Where is your chapeau, — your ’at ? ” she ques- 
tioned, glancing around at his other hand. “ It is 
down-the-stairs Yes? That is good. You can 
return now, Fran9ois ” — this to the wooden foot- 
man. “ Now you will come this way with me, Jean 
’Emingway.” 


JOHN MAKES A CALL 105 

Releasing him, she moved toward the windows 
overlooking the street. 

“ There are some few friends who wait, just long 
enough to meet you,’’ she smiled, waving a hand, as 
she spoke toward a little group. John, in his delight 
at seeing her, had not noticed that others were pres- 
ent. There were two men, almost foppishly attired, 
who stood in smiling expectancy, and a sumptuously 
gowned woman, lounging back in a chair, who 
watched the approach through half-shut lids. A 
cloud of cigarette smoke enveloped her. 

“ Madame la Princess de Brieux,” stated the host- 
ess easily. Then more directly to the lady, “ May 
I have the honour to present my veree good friend, 
Meester ’Emingway.? ” The Princess nodded, and 
turned her face away to flick off an ash. 

Inez laughed softly. Monsieur le Prince,” she 
went on, ‘‘ and Monsieur Carant-Dozie. These are 
both very great names in France, Monsieur ’Eming- 
way.” 

“ I am very glad to meet you,” said honest John, 
shaking hands in the American fashion. 

Again Madame de Pierrefond gave the little laugh, 
but John felt, by instinct, that it was not at his ex- 
pense. 

Madame la Princess, having freed her cigarette 
from its encumbrance, looked vaguely toward the 
newcomer and made a vivacious remark. 

“No French,” cried Inez. “ I warned you of it, 
Clotilde. Meester ’Emingway scorns our language.” 


106 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ Look here,” cried J ohn, laughing off his embar- 
rassment. “ That’s not fair. I don’t scorn it in 
the least. I envy it. But it’s simply too much for 
my tongue.” 

“ ’Ow triste,^* sympathised the Princess, thinking 
it was pure English that she spoke. ‘‘ But, nevaire 
min’. It is to be no good, even if you do spik 
Frainch, m’sieur. For dat bad Inez ” — here she 
shook her cigarette toward the hostess — she in- 
form us we ‘ geet out ’ w’en Le Americaine arrive. 
Now we geet out.” 

She rose, dragging after her an incredible accre- 
tion of flimsy draperies. “ Come, Arture, — come, 
M’sieur Carant-Dozie. You, aussi, mus’ to geet 
out.” 

“ Please don’t let me run you off,” exclaimed J ohn. 

“ ’Ip-pocrite! ” rejoined the Princess. ‘‘ You are 
glad to see the back of us, n'est-ce pas? ” 

Inez was gliding toward the nearest electric bell. 
One of the Frenchmen reached it first. When it had 
been pressed, he leaned toward his hostess, talking 
rapidly. 

The grey-legged footman appeared. “ The car- 
riage of Madame la Princess,” Inez ordered. 

As the three guests went down the stairway, all 
chatting, and flinging backward various light re- 
marks, meant for ears left behind, John faced his 
hostess solemnly. 

“ I thought you said that you were lonely,” he 
challenged. 


JOHN MAKES A CALL 107 

Inez waited until she heard the front door close. 

“ I am lonely.” 

“ And that you had few friends.” 

“ I ’ave few friends.” 

“ But these people,” he persisted, as if their pres- 
ence had been a personal affront, “ kings and dukes 
and princesses and things. You even called her by 
her given name.” 

“ That comes easily in France,” the other 
shrugged. 

“ Do you mean that, in spite of your apparent in- 
timacy, these people mean nothing to you.? ” 

‘‘ Less than a chestnut blossom fallen from the old 
tree at Robinson.” 

John gave her a searching glance. 

As if fearing that she had flung out a tentacle 
that might lead too far, she caught herself together 
and amended, in an apologetic tone, “ It is ungrate- 
ful for me to speak in such way. Of course I am 
fond of them, especially Clo tilde. I do not think 
her veree happy. Her ’usband he has no sense, — 
none at all.” 

“ How about that other chap, — the one with the 
spliced name.? ” 

Madame de Pierrefond could only guess at the 
meaning of the term spliced.” “ Oh, Monsieur 
Carant-Dozie .? He is a great man. I should be 
honoured that he cares to come to me.” 

“ And are you .? ” 

At this question, and the serious, almost belliger- 


108 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


ent voice in which it was uttered, Inez’ laughter could 
not be restrained. 

‘‘ Of course you are thinking me a boor,” said 
John, flushing darkly. ‘‘ Please forgive me if I have 
been rude.” 

“ Now, Jean ’Emingway,” she chided merrily. 
“You must not look like dat! You have not been 
rude. It is our compact that we speak right out 
what we wish. Is it not our compact? ” she insisted, 
seeing that his face refused to lighten. 

“ Ye-e-es,” he answered, doubtfully. 

“Not — ‘ ye-e-e-e-es,’ ” she mimicked, though her 
eyes were full of kindness. “But yes! yes I yes! 
Ou % — certainment — to be sure! You are to ask 
any question zat you will, and say anything zat you 
will, only ” — here she paused, and leaned her be- 
witching face closer, — “ you must not look like the 
thunder-storm if sometimes I laugh.” 

“ All right then! ” cried John, his dark expression 
flashing into one of boyish relief. “ I am to say 
anything I please, if only I don’t get sore when you 
laugh at me.” 

She nodded brightly. 

“ Then tell me why you consider that Carant man 
great? ” 

Inez bit her lips for control. 

“ Oh, go ahead and laugh, I don’t mind. But when 
you are through, please answer me.” 

“ I think him great because he is great,” was her 
maddening reply. 


JOHN MAKES A CALL 


109 


What does he do? ” 

“ For one thing, — writes great books.” 

“ Novels, I’ll be bound. I can see the yellow cov- 
ers now.” 

Then, my friend, you must better go at once to 
the eye-doctor. He writes philosophee.” 

For an instant John was staggered. Then a 
new gleam was vouchsafed. ‘‘ I’ll bet he is a social- 
ist!” 

“ Pairehaps you would call him that. He is a 
thinker, — an idealist, — an individ-u-a-leest — 
Oh,” she broke off, with an impatient twist of her en- 
tire flexible body, “ I cannot say so many ’ard words 
all to once. It makes my t’roat hurt.” She clasped 
both hands about her slender neck, and looked ap- 
pealingly at John. 

‘‘Don’t you ever speak English?” demanded the 
young man. 

“ Until you climbed into my tree, — not for years 
and years.” 

J ohn grinned. “ Perhaps you are sorry that I 
climbed? ” 

“ That I will announce later,” she murmured, with 
a tantalising droop of the long lashes. 

John stared at her in silence. Feeling rather than 
seeing his steady scrutiny, a faint, slow flush began 
to creep into her cheeks. She gave a little hyster- 
ical, inward giggle. She was actually beginning to 
feel embarrassed, a sensation so novel that it had its 
charm. She raised her eyes suddenly, thinking to 


110 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


disconcert him. A child of four could not have 
failed more utterly in producing the effect she had 
desired. There was still one weapon, — mockery. 
“What! No more questions.^ Not even about 
Monsieur Carant-Dozie.? ” she cried. 

“ How did you come to know a socialist.? ” 

“ For one thing, he is my teacher. He lectures at 
the Sorbonne. It is a — what do you call it — a 
course I am taking.? ” 

“You actually go to hear that — that — ” 
Words failed him. 

“ Tree times a Aveek I go. Tree times, rain or 
shine.” Again silence threatened. Inez felt a thrill 
of nervous apprehension. “ He is a veree great 
man,” she reiterated, with emphasis, He is a leader 
of thought. All persons are reading his books.” 

“ Fm not,” said downright John. 

“ But you will.” 

“ I will not.” 

“ Fie,” laughed Inez, feeling on safe ground once 
more. “ Such a silly little schoolboy. Of course 
you mus’ read. Did you not come into the great 
world to learn and to test many things.? How will 
you discriminate if you don’t know all .? ” 

John gave a start. How exactly these words re- 
lated to what his mother had said. 

“What is it?” his companion asked, quickly. 
“ Another thought took you then. I could see 
it.” 


JOHN MAKES A CALL 


111 


hand across his forehead. “ Only I believe you are 
right about my getting into touch with other points 
of view.” 

“ Ah^, — that is good ! ” she exclaimed, in genuine 
pleasure. ‘‘ I will lend you a book this very night. 
But now there is something that I wish to show you.” 

She rose in her swift, noiseless way. 

Come ! ” she said, looking back over her shoulder. 

Wondering what new revelation was to be given, 
he followed her down the long double salon, to the 
threshold of a curtained door, dark within. A 
strong and unusual perfume, coming apparently from 
growing plants, streamed out toward them. 

His hostess snapped on a whole switchboard of 
tungsten lights, and together they faced a living 
bower of verdure. The flooring was of a dull yellow 
stone. Palms, thick stemmed as organ pipes, rose all 
about them. Overhead, against the night, arched 
twisted vines, set starrily with jessamines and great 
primrose-coloured blooms that John had never seen 
before. Behind the palms was a bank of tall olean- 
ders bending toward them under masses of pink flow- 
ers. This was the perfume he had noted. How it 
recalled the one oleander which, through so many 
years, his mother had cherished. From boyhood it 
had been his special duty to move the green tub con- 
taining it, from the front “ porch ” to the warm 
night-shelter of the living-room. He closed his eyes, 
feeling himself in a strange dream of home. If Inez 
noticed, this time she made no comment. 


11 ^ 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


His foot struck against a bamboo chair. There 
were several about, and a low wicker table strewn 
with French periodicals. Across one corner swung 
a hammock, hand-woven of dull silk cords of an un- 
usual blue. At the farther end of the space gleamed 
a pond, its edges hidden by a ring of yellow irises. 
From somewhere among the plants beyond came the 
incessant tinkle of falling water. 

‘‘ I don’t believe it ! ” was the exclamation liter- 
ally forced from the young man’s lips. 

‘‘ You think it nice? ” she asked, in the deprecat- 
ing tones of a possessor, but her face sparkled. 

It’s the loveliest thing I ever did see,” he avowed. 

Ah, there comes my pet — petite tortoise, to 
welcome you,” she cried, stooping for a dark scram- 
bling object which had just hurled itself over the edge 
of the pond. 

A turtle ! A real, live turtle ! Please let me 
hold it,” pleaded John. 

She watched, with caressing eyes, as he lifted the 
small creature, and stroked its horny back. “ I used 
to have one at home,” he explained, as if feeling that 
he needed to account for his childish pleasure. 

‘‘ Is it there now? ” 

“ No. The first year I went off to college, it dug 
its way out of the garden, and we never could find it.” 

I love all pets,” Inez told him. “ In here are 
even some crickets. It is a little early in the season 
for them to chirp. Do you like to hear crickets 
chirp ? ” 


JOHN MAKES A CALL 113 

“You bet,” said John. “But how on earth do 
you feed them.?^ ” 

“ On cucumbers, and little thin, white slices of 
pear. I learned it in Japan.” 

“ You’ve been to Japan ” 

She nodded. 

“ And all around the world ? ” 

She nodded twice, to show how many times. 

“ I guess you’ve been about everywhere,” he then 
remarked, and did not attempt to disguise his 
envy. 

“ Nevaire to Delphi, Iowa,” she said, demurely. 

“ That was unkind ! I hope you’ll have to live 
there some day, just for punishment.” 

She shrugged protesting shoulders. “ Can you 
fancy it.?^ ” 

“Why not? You don’t seem to think much of 
Paris, even with your wonderful Monseer Quarant- 
Dozee, and the Sorbonne. Perhaps in a more arid 
habitat you could be more yourself.” 

“ And -psiir e-haps/’ she flashed back at him, “ to be 
myself is just what I do not wish.” 

John, lifting his fascinated eyes from the tortoise, 
fixed them thoughtfully on her. “ I begin to believe 
that that’s what you never yet have been,” he sug- 
gested, and was on the point of elaborating his 
theory when, by a sudden change of voice and man- 
ner, she checked him. Both hands went up to her 
temples. Her brows arched in protest. “ ’Elp ! 
’elp ! ” she laughed. “ I am to be vivisect ! Come, 


114j 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


‘petite tortoise. It is not safe to remain wid this 
Jean ’Emingway. You must go back to your waters 
of oblivion.” 

Still laughing, she caught the little creature from 
him, scratched the reptilian head, and then, gliding 
over to the pond, slid it under the dark surface. 

“ There ! ” she cried, again facing John. “ He is 
restored. And so must be his mistress. Now we go 
back into waters of oblivion, — aussi.’* 

Leaving the conservatory still garish with light, 
she hurried back into the drawing-rooms. John 
overtook her at the piano. He had noted the beau- 
tiful instrument when they had passed before. It 
was a medium-sized grand, plainly finished, and 
painted a deep silver-grey. It stood on crystal balls, 
and in the centre of its upper surface was placed a 
wide-mouthed vessel of dull pewter, heaped and top- 
pling over with the same small pink roses destined 
now, forever, to be associated with the woman at his 
side. 

He put out a tentative hand. You promised,” 
he smiled. 

“ Ahe, — yes, — I will sing. The mood takes me. 
But you, my frien’, — you will go way back an’ seet 
down — You see I have not forgot all American 
slang! You will go to some place where I cannot 
see you. So I will sing best.” 

John obeyed, selecting an easy chair well out of 
range, but one which gave him, nevertheless, an en- 
chanting view of the singer’s head, crowned with loose 


JOHN MAKES A CALL 115 

masses of dark gold hair, and the slender throat 
which held it up so proudly. 

She took her seat slowly, and, after an interval of 
silence, began to murmur, rather than to sing, a lit- 
tle home-ballad in the patois of the New Orleans 
Creole, 

‘‘ That is the song of the red-wing in our bayou 
marshes,” she explained, without turning. “ Now, 
in the nex’ verse, day begins to fade. Small 'pere 
Red-wing, he says to la mere and the babies, a ‘ good- 
night.’ ” 

Again the long throat lifted. From it came 
sounds as of low twittering; and these rose gradu- 
ally, clearing into veritable bird-notes so true and 
exquisitely sweet it seemed incredible that a human 
creature uttered them. 

When it was finished, the very silence thrilled with 
harmonies. John did not jar it by a breath. A 
swift flash of appreciation crossed the singer’s face. 

After a few chords on a different key, she began 
‘‘ Suwanee River.” It was to the listener as if he 
heard a well-loved earth-song echoed by some high, 
freed spirit in paradise. Toward the last he began 
to swallow hard. He did not dare take out his 
pocket-handkerchief. He called himself a sentimen- 
tal, home-sick fool, and cursed inwardly the warm, 
bright drops that persisted in gathering under his 
half-closed lids. This time he was glad when the 
last note faded. 

As if knowing what he felt, and being determined 


116 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


to prove to the utmost all the magic of her voice, 
Inez started the opening words of Mother o’ 
Mine.” 

But this was too much for John’s overstrained 
nerves and heart. “ No! No! ” he protested, grop- 
ing his way toward her. ‘‘ I couldn’t stand for that 
right now. I am about to blubber like a schoolboy 
as it is.” 

“ Poor, homesick Venfanty* she comforted. 
“ Then here — comme ga — I will the bright rattle 
shake.” 

Looking up into his face she broke into a merry 
Parisian chanson. 

‘‘ Thanks awfully. That dries them like a 
sponge ! ” he exclaimed gratefully, and, pretending 
that it was pretence, at last put his handkerchief to 
his wet eyes. 

“ It is enough for the one dose,” Madame de 
Pierrefond now declared. She rose and stood beside 
him. 

“ And you’ve had enough of me for half-a-dozen 
doses,” rejoined the visitor. ‘‘ I’ll be going now. 
But please ” — here he bent imploring eyes upon her 
— ‘‘ please say that I may come again.” 

“ You may come again, Jean ’Emingway.” 


CHAPTER IX 


JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 

Life, with this wonderful new friendship to illumine 
it, became now for John, a daily and a conscious joy. 
On one pretext or the other, his visits to Madame de 
Pierrefond grew closer as to intervals, as well as in 
more subtle understanding. 

He had not dreamed that women like Inez could 
exist. All that belonged, by right, to her own sex, — 
delicacy, charm and intuition, she possessed in super- 
lative degree, and to these gifts was added the intel- 
lect of a man. Within a few weeks she had gained 
from him a complete synopsis of his work at the 
Ecole. He fell into the way of discussing with her 
his architectural problems, and afterward submitting 
the drawings. She pondered these gravely, looking 
so girlish and utterly feminine as she bent over the 
flattened scroll that the frown of interest seemed 
almost in the nature of a farce. But after such si- 
lent preoccupation, when the gold-brown head was 
lifted and the frown displaced by a triumphant smile, 
her forthcoming comment was sure to reveal keen 
penetration. A little to his chagrin John found that 
always she was the first to solve a difficulty, and that 
her suggestions, when incorporated in his next at- 
tempt, invariably brought words of commendation 
from his instructor. 

lir 


118 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


The most unassuming of men possess small, secret 
reservoirs of vanity, J ohn, not realising his own mo- 
tives of self-defence, fell into the way of repeating a 
statement made early in their partnership, to the 
effect that he did not assume insight or facility in 
anything but just “ plain architecture.” When, in 
her bright arguments she would use such terms as 
“ musical proportion ” or the fundamental inter- 
relation of the arts,” he would give a deprecatory 
gesture and reiterate his ignorance of all arts but his 
own. 

Once, stung into retort, Inez flashed back at him, 
“ Your art! Architecture is not a single art, like 
an island to be reached by a single bridge. Paire- 
haps you think you have your one bridge, with a 
sign over it saying ^ The Ecole des Beaux Arts — 
placed here for the crossing of Monsieur Jean ’Em- 
ingway’l Pouf! It is the child talk! Your art, 
more than any other, must be a synthesis of them 
all! Have you not said, of yourself, that painting 
of the best was mural, — to decorate a given space? 
What are the immortal figures from that Parthenon 
but items in one superb decoration? No, my frien’, 
of all arts yours is the last that can be split apart, 
like the church creeds in your little Delphi. Try to 
cut it off, — it is the breaking of a branch from the 
Tree of Life. Soon it will be withered.” 

But what can you expect? Where I come from 
there was no chance to study the others.” 

“ I expect,” she remarked, with entire reasonable- 


JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 119 

ness, “ that since it is that you have come, and since 
you now get the chance, you will be intelligent 
enough to accept it.” 

“ You bet ril accept ! Lead me to it.” 

“ Stupid one ! ” 

You mean,” he cried, his face brightening, that 
you are willing to be my teacher ? ” 

“ I congratulate that you are at last able to see 
before your nose,” she scoffed. 

“ Don’t be hard on a fellow. The very thought 
blinds me.” 

At this she laughed, relenting. Then it is set- 
tled. Behold in me your strict and awe-inspiring 
mentor.” 

“ And behold in me,” he re j oined, laying one hand 
on his heart, and bowing with exaggerated humility, 
‘‘ your most grateful, zealous and docile pupil.” 

She tossed her bright head airily, “ It is easy to 
be all doze, for you are my one pupil onlee.” 

“ If there were a thousand which, thank Heaven, 
there are not, I would still be the most grate- 
ful.” 

Madame de Pierrefond gazed upon him thought- 
fully. “ We go a little hastily. Before the bargain 
is complete, — there is one more Art, — the greatest, 
which we have not spoke of.” 

John wondered for an instant, then in her deep 
eyes saw the answer. ‘‘You mean, — Life?” 

She nodded several times. “ Yes, to be sure. 
The Art of Life. All, — all — the Arts, if they are 


120 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


to live and grow, must strike root deep into that 
cosmic soil.” 

John felt himself growing pale. Something like a 
shiver of premonition went over him. The words 
were almost identical with those spoken by his mother 
that morning, at dawn, when they said their real 
good-bye. Rut how was it possible that two minds, 
so utterly dissimilar, — two souls nurtured at the 
very antipodes of experience, could feel and express 
things in the same way.?^ 

“You do not like that thought! No.^” Inez 
questioned, leaning toward him in quick sympathy. 

John pressed his hand upward along his forehead. 
There was a sudden moisture on it. 

“ Yes, — I like it well,” he answered, laughing a 
little unsteadily. “ Only it rather took my breath.” 

It was his companion’s turn to look puzzled. 

“ But never mind that spasm. It’s over 1 ” he 
cried, catching himself back into the present. “ And 
don’t you forget that I’m your pupil, accepted and 
enrolled. When am I to take my first lesson ? ” 

Her wondering expression did not altogether 
fade. 

“ Since the mention of Life has so queer an effect 
upon you,” she began, with an assumption of school- 
mistress severity, “ we shall make beginning with 
some simpler form.” 

“ Anything you say. Teacher,” agreed John, 
meekly. 

“ Then, let me see — ” she pondered aloud. 


JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 121 


‘‘This day is Jeudi — pardon — Thursday. On 
Sunday afternoon we go to the Louvre. There I 
shall let you see three t’ings, free only, — do you at- 
tend ” Here she held forth that number of white 
fingers. 

“ I attend, oh, great, compelling One ! Is it in 
order to ask what I am to be shown? ” 

“ It is in order, — after you remove the many twin- 
kles from your eyes.” 

“ They are cast to the winds of heaven,” exclaimed 
the young man, pretending to gather glances as if 
there were overcrowded pins from a cushion. 

His preceptress maintained an air of detachment. 
“ Now you look properly serious,” she commended, 
when the absurd gestures came to an end. “ The 
first thing you are to see is the Winged Victory. 
The next, a Greek charioteer in bronze, and after- 
ward, — if the state of your mind permits it, — a 
scrap of marble in the basement.” 

John murmured humble gratitude. 

“ Another time,” she went on, evidently satisfied 
with the intent and adoring countenance turned to 
hers, “ you shall be led again to the Louvre, to stand 
before just one thing.” 

“And that?” 

“ A very perfect, small model of the Parthenon.” 

“Don’t you suppose I’ve seen that? John pro- 
tested. “ It’s part of our course. I’ve been half a 
dozen times.” 

“ I do not know or care about your stupid Ecole 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


12 ^ 

course,” asseverated this Minerva, in crisp disap- 
proval of his outbreak. “ My methods are individ- 
ual. Even if you have gone ’alf-a-dozen times, as 
you say, — I have no reason to believe that you saw 
anything.” 

‘‘ I’m in the dust again,” sighed John. “ Sit on 
me, — trample me! Only, Athene, retain me for 
your disciple.” 

On his way home that evening, the thought per- 
sisting in John’s mind — clinging to it like a scrap 
of chiffon in a wind-tossed tree — was the almost in- 
credible similarity of Inez’ words to those spoken, a 
year back, by his mother. He was genuine in his 
belief that the differences between them spanned the 
full width of human temperament. Inez was a flower 
of the present, — her brilliant mind leaned forward, 
gathering all new influences ; that of his mother was 
conservative, restricted, tied back like her own 
‘‘ porch ” roses, to a stiff trellis of precedent. His 
honest belief in this difference which might, if forced, 
pass easily into antagonism, had been his chief rea- 
son — or so he now assured himself — for never yet 
having mentioned Inez in his letters. 

Why he had been so reluctant to speak freely to 
his new, delightful friend about the little mother, 
called for a deeper self-analysis. He tried to think 
it out now, but, as usual, it baffled him. Inez and 
he had pledged themselves to speak freely on all top- 
ics. Perhaps this was just the trouble. He could 
not regard his mother as a “ topic.” At first Inez 


JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS US 


had questioned him, and had even urged that he show 
her a photograph. This he had never done. Grad- 
ually he fell into the way of avoiding all reference 
to his distant home. He could not be sure whether 
or not Inez had noted his evasion. Her perfect tact 
could be counted on to swerve the conversational 
skiff from threatening rocks. 

A letter from home was due this very day. He 
would probably find one on the corner of his draught- 
ing-board, that conspicuous ledge being the spot 
chosen by Felice for the display of his meagre post. 

He went up the stairs rather slowly. With each 
step mounted his resolution to break through this 
unnecessary wall of silence, and, should a letter from 
his mother really be there, in answering it, to tell her 
frankly of Madame de Pierrefond, and all that her 
friendship meant. 

There would be no need, of course, to relate the 
facts of their somewhat unconventional meeting. In 
Delphi one did not make new friends among tree 
branches. Nor would it be quite fair, either to his 
mother or to Inez, should he attempt, in this first 
letter, to impart any of the new friend’s advanced 
ideas. No, he would merely state that he had 
‘‘ met ” Madame de Pierrefond, an American and a 
widow. It was with a feeling of deep thankfulness 
that he realised the entire truth and correctness of 
this definite term. Suppose he had had to place be- 
fore it that loathsome, cheap and verdant adjective 
used by his countrymen to distinguish the false arti- 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


cle from the real! Not that it would have mattered 
at all to him. He was fast outgrowing narrow 
prejudice, — but for his mother! 

This comforting reflection had brought him to his 
door. Turning on the lights within he saw not one, 
but three letters, arranged in stiff precision. Before 
touching them he knew who had written each. Be- 
sides the dear, expected missive, there was one from 
Charlie Abbey, and one — alarmingly thick — ad- 
dressed in Mrs. Abbey’s small, spidery hand. John’s 
heart gave a disagreeable contraction. He had not 
thought of Charlie Abbey for weeks. The last news, 
conveyed through Mrs. Hemingway, had been that 
Charlie’s mother had “ backed out ” of her promise. 

He took up the boy’s first. It was in a large 
square envelope. The address was scrawled as by 
a person in a frenzy of joy. It could mean nothing 
else but that Charlie was coming. 

John gave an impatient sigh, drew up a chair 
to his desk, and turned on the reading lamp. After 
the first paragraph he groaned and dropped the let- 
ter. Charlie was leaving Delphi that very day. In 
ten more he would be at Boulogne, where he im- 
plored J ohn to “ run down ” and meet him. 

Mother is sore because I won’t stop over at Bos- 
ton and visit a lot of her relatives,” he had written, 
“but no refrigerated beans for mine! If my ship 
is in port when I reach New York, I’m going to hide 
among the cargo and chloroform myself, so that 
mother can’t stop my getting away.” 


JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 125 


Cruelly ignoring the following pages of antici- 
pated rapture, John snapped off the light, and gave 
himself over to troubled thoughts. Nothing could 
be more disturbing at this particular time. Why 
on earth couldn’t he have waited a little longer? 
And why was he such a mutt as to refuse to visit his 
mother’s relatives?” John growled aloud. 

Within a short time the young man had worked 
himself into a veritable passion of resentment. Any 
boy who could treat his mother so badly did not de- 
serve consideration. It would serve him ‘‘jolly 
well right ” — as the young Englishman at the Ecole 
was so fond of saying — if he were altogether ig- 
nored. 

Then, all at once, the humour of it came, and 
John laughed, if somewhat ruefully, at his own boy- 
ish folly. Of course nothing was the matter with 
Charlie’s coming except that he, John, was losing 
his head over Madame de Pierrefond, and didn’t 
want the delirious process checked. “ It’s time that 
I was facing more than one fact clearly,” he told 
himself. “ How can I hope to have a chance with 
such a woman? She’s rich and I am poor. This 
one thing would be enough to keep me at a distance. 
Maybe Charlie’s coming just now is a godsend after 
all.” 

Being thus restored to sanity, he turned back the 
lamp into brightness, and opened his mother’s let- 
ter. At the first words his eyes softened. It was 
like her own gentle hand upon his hair. 


126 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ How glad you will be, dear son, that Charles is 
to join you at last! I know so well what the sight 
of a home face will mean to you. I don’t need to 
write much news this time, as Charles will tell it in 
his own cheerful way. He is bringing you a little 
box from home. Molly and I cooked everything. 
I hope it will all be fresh and palatable. He brings 
also the last batch of socks. I like those silk ones. 
They wear out so much quicker.” 

John pressed this last sentence to his lips. 

Heaven bless that Mother o’ Mine,” he whsipered. 

The evening had brought already many conflict- 
ing emotions. The little travelling clock on the 

desk one of his mother’s gifts — pointed to 

twelve. He took up Mrs. Abbey’s still un-opened 
screed, twirled it reflectively, and then laid it down. 
It would need tremendous concentration to read 
through all those finely written pages. ‘‘ And what’s 
the use, anyhow ? ” he vindicated. ‘‘ I know all she’s 
going to say. Aunt Clara’s list of Parisian ‘ don’ts ’ 
will seem like a Sunday-school chart beside it.” 

He gave a great yawn, then rose, and began pre- 
paring for bed. As he moved about, liis mind — 
in spite of the recent yawn — began to grow clearer 
and strangely vivacious. “ Perhaps when the room 
is good and dark. I’ll feel sleepy,” he muttered. But 
once on his pillow a thousand winged fancies pricked 
him. Almost he could see the glimmer of their on- 
coming flight. 


JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 127 


After half an hour of restlessness, he gave up all 
hopes of sleep, and, attaching the reading lamp to a 
socket near the bed, propped himself up and pre- 
pared to read. 

The book chosen was the most recent of Professor 
Carant-Dozie’s to be put into English. Several 
days before Inez had loaned it, saying, with what 
he now recalled an unusual gravity, Please read it, 
— every word.” 

This was the first time he had opened it. He did 
so now at random. The chapter thus disclosed was 
called “ The Injustices to Both of Legal Marriages.” 
He frowned, and made as if to turn the page, but, 
somehow, his fingers clung. Inez had said that he 
must read every word, ‘‘llow in the dickens can 
there be any marriage except legal ones,” he grum- 
bled. “ This French idiot makes me sick ! ” 

But after all, the idiot was Inez’ teacher, just as 
she had promised to be his ; and Inez, as he was dis- 
contentedly aware, possessed queer ideas about the 
marriage state. Now and again she had flung out 
remarks that made him wince. Heretofore a certain 
reserve had withheld him from questioning her as to 
the reality of her beliefs and disbeliefs. He now saw, 
in this interval of unusual mental clarity, that his 
present relationship with Madame de Pierrefond was 
among the things to be dispassionately faced. Both 
were still eager and suspiciously ready to refer to 
their compact of sincerity, but John, at least, had 


128 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


begun to realise the paradox that with the increase 
of intimacy there came a corresponding decrease in 
the subjects discussed. 

The “ dark spots ” in Inez’ life, for instance, had 
not yet been illumined. To do her justice, she had 
more than once attempted it. It had been John who 
checked her, saying, “ Oh, don’t let’s bother about 
it to-day. There’s plenty of time.” 

If in her instant acquiescence there was a savour 
of relief, who could blame her.f^ No woman, however 
intellectual or advanced,” can relish the displaying 
of scars. 

Now as John read, he fumed. No matter what 
Inez’ personal experiences, they could not justify 
her in following the blasphemous, inhuman, unfemi- 
nine logic of this modern iconoclast. Why! The 
man left nothing sacred 1 Motherhood was merely a 
duty to the state. The accident of sex alone laid 
the unpleasant duty at woman’s door. If children 
could be produced by machinery, so much the better. 
All the traditions of hearth and home, all sweet do- 
mestic habit were held up for ridicule. A man, and 
equally his mate — the brute at least granted the ra- 
tionality of mating — were of service only in pro- 
portion to their intellects, and what those joint in- 
tellects could achieve for the common good. Reli- 
gious marriage he regarded as a relic of superstitious 
barbarism, and legal ones as the act of moral cow- 
ards. The one true union in these enlightened 
times, so the writer declared, was when two free. 


JOHN ENTERS A LIFE-CLASS 129 


noble, earnest souls joined hands, pledging them- 
selves and the community to live and work together, 
always for the betterment of all mankind, until such 
time as one, or both, of them began to feel a lessen- 
ing of the physical attraction which was, indubi- 
tably, of benefit in enhancing other faculties. 

At this point the reader cursed aloud, and flung 
the volume to the floor. Not until the dawn began 
to steal upon him did he sleep, and then in a night- 
mare vision beheld Inez in Athenian robes and a pair 
of the socks his mother had darned, standing on the 
steps of the Louvre and announcing in a shrill voice, 
to the population of Paris that she chose Jean ’Em- 
ingway for her soul-mate, and intended having a 
large family by machinery. 


CHAPTER X 


THE FIRST LESSON 

The two days that needed to elapse before John 
was to take his lesson, were not specially happy ones. 
Facts, of the kind that have to be definitely “ faced,” 
do not, as a rule, go garlanded in flowers. In com- 
mon with another breed of ‘‘ stubborn things,” their 
floral affinity is more apt to be a thistle. 

On Sunday, as he and Inez drove toward the 
Louvre, he struggled valiantly to keep at bay the 
shadow of his heaped and menacing perplexities. 
During the drive she chattered incessantly. Never 
had she been more beautiful, or more becomingly ar- 
rayed. She was like some merry-hearted schoolgirl, 
out for a day of liberty. John, watching her, could 
not help thinking of the incongruity between her ap- 
pearance and the startling theories which she 
claimed. More bitterly than ever did he hate Pro- 
fessor Carant-Dozie, and under his breath cursed the 
day in which Inez began to feel his sinister power. 

As they went, side by side, up the Louvre steps, 
the memory of his nightmare dream flashed back, giv- 
ing him a sensation of treachery and shame. His 
eager companion led him, as she had warned, straight 
to the footstool of the Victory. After a moment of 
silence in which he had felt, rather than heard, the 
130 


THE FIRST LESSON 


131 


long, reverent intake of her breath, she began to 
speak. At the first it required no effort for him to 
follow. There were wonderful things she had to say 
this afternoon. Dimly John felt that he would have 
to ‘‘ grow up ” a good many intellectual inches be- 
fore he could quite reach her highest branches. The 
last thing she wished was to make him conscious of 
this disparity, but there were times, as now, when the 
sight of supreme beauty obsessed her. Impressions 
and emotions flowed from her lips in a stream of 
liquid fire, and she would forget that a listener was 
near. 

In spite of frequent self-spurring, the young man’s 
attention began to flag. His mind had been kept 
too long on tip-toes. A few very human muscles be- 
gan to ache. The thoughts of his personal vexa- 
tions swarmed over him, stinging like insects, and 
trying their malicious best to drag him back into 
reality. 

All at once Inez turned, giving keen scrutiny. 
‘‘You are distrait, mon ami, Yes.^*” 

“ I am, — a little,” he admitted. “ I’ll tell you 
about it later.” 

“ No,” she said, with one of her quick, decisive 
gestures. “ It is better at once. I waste time of a 
pupil who has other things on his mind. We will sit 
here.” 

He followed submissively, seating himself on one 
of the crimson velvet sofas that are to be found in all 
European galleries. 


im 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ It’s disgusting of me to have shown you that I 
was troubled,” John began apologetically. 

‘‘ As if you could ’elp the showing ! ” she smiled. 

“ Then you noticed it all along.? ” 

“ Yess, — at the once. I did not speak before, 
for I had the belief that when we had reached the 
High Gods — ” Her clear voice broke in air. She 
bowed, and stretching out her hands, palms down, 
made a little gesture of salaam, first to the poised 
Victory and then to the tall young charioteer in 
bronze which stands quite near, and which, as all the 
world knows, is one of the greatest treasures old 
Time has left us. 

They are stunning enough to have made me for- 
get,” murmured John, contritely. “But somehow 
they didn’t.” 

“ Voila! Then we climb down from Olympus and 
enter the clinic. Let us ’ave the thorn out ! ” 

John opened his lips to declare it not one thorn 
but several, thought better of the impulse, and stated, 
simply, “ A friend of mine from Delphi will soon be 
here.” 

“A friend.? Is it a ladee.?” 

“No. A chap named Charlie Abbey.” 

That is a nice nahie, — Sharlee Abbee,” she 
mused. “ Is he the nice chap ? ” 

The last question was put in a light, almost teas- 
ing voice. 

“ Oh, Charlie’s all right, as kids go.” 


THE FIRST LESSON 


1S3 


She sent a swift side-glance upward to his scowling 
countenance. Her own was now sparkling with mis- 
chief. 

“ Fie ! Jean ’Emingway, — that you do not wish 
to see yo’ friend from ’ome.” 

“Have I said I didn’t want to see him?” John 
growled. 

“ As if there was the need ! ” Her raillery was 
now so evident that he faced her. 

“ Of course I’ll be glad to see the boy,” he cried, 
almost angrily. “ It’s only — ” 

“ On — lee ? ” she prodded. 

“Look here! You’re making fun. You know 
just as well as I do what’s the matter. J don’t like 
the idea of his butting in.” 

“ Butt — ing — in ? ” she repeated slowly, and in 
genuine astonishment. “ Is Sharlee then a goat ? ” 

John was forced into a laugh. “Not by any 
means. I think Fm that. Now, don’t look so puz- 
zled. ‘ Butt-in ’ is only American slang. It means 
intrude, — interfere, — come between. I don’t want 
Charlie or anybody else to come between us.” 

“ Must Sharley come between ? ” she questioned, 
with downcast lids. “ Could he not stop on this 
other side of me?” 

“ Not while I am on this,” declared John. “ You 
are my teacher, and I don’t propose to share you.” 

The merriment in her eyes sobered to a more tender 
radiance, yet she could not forbear one further dart. 


134 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


I am hurt. You seem to be what they call the 
monopolist. That is against all principles of mod- 
ern sociology, friend Jean.” 

“ I don’t care a hang about modem sociology, — 
especially as set forth by that plausible idiot, Carant- 
Dozie,” he exploded. In the ensuing pause he felt 
the pincers on another set of thorns. 

In Inez’ face all smiles had faded. 

“ You mus’ not speak to me so of Monsieur Car- 
ant-Dozie,” she said in a low, distinct voice. “ He 
is my frien’, and, as you know, I believe in his teach- 
ing, and will follow it.” 

Not all of it! Good Lord, Inez, — not all! ” he 
broke out with vehemence. It was the first time he 
had used her Christian name. He, at least, seemed 
unaware of the new liberty. 

Madame de Pierrefond sat very still. She did not 
answer for some moments. His hurt, eager eyes fed 
on the white face near. She did not betray herself 
by a tremor and yet he felt that her mind was a bat- 
tle-field of warring impulses. 

‘‘ I read all of that last fool book, — each word of 
it,” he almost groaned. ‘‘ I can’t believe that you 
subscribe in full to views like that.” 

Inez rose very slowly. Our mission here to-day 
was of Art, and not philosophee,” she said. “ And 
our first lesson has not been the success. I am tired. 
Shall we go back to my rooms for tea? ” 

“ If you wish me to,” said John, stalking beside 


THE FIRST LESSON 


135 


her. He felt very much like a derelict schoolboy, but 
as they paced, in silence, the long marble halls, he 
vras saying to himself, many times over, and with in- 
creased vehemence at every repetition, that neither 
Inez de Pierrefond nor any other woman should bam- 
boozle him into accepting the Frenchman’s impious 
doctrine. 

He called a taxi-cab and they drove home, but now 
each was mute and heavy with self-consciousness. 
Inez’ gaiety had fallen like petals from a rose. At 
her door the young man hesitated, Do you really 
want me to come in ? ” 

Inez looked at him as at something, for the mo- 
ment, forgotten, “ Mats oui,^^ she said politely. 
‘‘ Did I not ask you.^ ” 

After a perfect tea, the strain between the friends 
showed signs of relaxation. John, being a man, and 
a singularly uncomplex one, made no effort to assist; 
but Inez, in her role of hostess, soon forced herself 
back into a more ordinary state of mind. 

Suppose we now return to Sharlee,” she sug- 
gested, when John had refused to eat another of the 
small, honey-sweet French cakes, and was lighting a 
cigarette. ‘‘When does he arrive.'^” 

“ On J uly eighteenth. This is the tenth.” 

“ Eight more days,” she murmured, counting them 
off on the gilt arm of her chair. “ It is the heaps of 
time for you to get ready. You will meet him at the 
steamer.? Yes? ” 


136 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


It’s my intention to try it. I only hope I won’t 
get submerged in a whirlpool of French vocables on 
the way.” 

‘‘You cannot get lost from here to Boulogne, if 
only you remain on the cars until the whole train 
stops. Now, one more question. Is Sharlee, like 
you, to study the architecture ? ” 

“ No, he’s going to make a try for Art. He has 
wanted to for years, but he is dependent, financially, 
on his mother, and Mrs. Abbey — well, — Mrs. 
Abbey is, as we say in Delphi, rather set in her ways.” 

“And only just now she has consent.?” 

John nodded. “ But even now she has tied him up 
with a whole string of conditions.” 

“ Conditions ? 1 do not understand.” 

“ Oh, limitations, — things he must do and, — es- 
pecially must Tiof.” 

“ But how can she know of it all, when she is not to 
be here? ” 

“ That little fact wouldn’t phase Mrs. Abbey,” 
laughed John. “ She thinks she can run Paris from 
Delphi as well as she could from the Hotel de Ville.” 

“ May I hear just one condition? ” Inez requested, 
with ice and disapproval in her tone. 

“ You shall hear all, if I can remember them. The 
most absurd is that Charlie must get the cheapest 
teacher he can find, until he has shown that he is 
worth putting under a first-class one.” 

He turned to look at her, prepared for indigna- 
tion, but not the burning fury in her eyes. 


THE FIRST LESSON 


137 


“ Imbecile ! ” she almost sobbed. “ An’ she would 
not send her cook to a poor chef first ! Poor Shar- 
lee.” 

Oh, you mustn’t be too hard on Mrs. Abbey,” 
palliated John. ‘‘ She means well.” 

This innocent and charitable remark instead of 
soothing, lashed his hearer into a new frenzy. 
“Means well! Means well!” she repeated, pushing 
the words out between clenched teeth. “ That is the 
slogan of the evil ones. What difference if she means 
well, when the boy’s spirit is bent, — his young heart 
silenced. Oh, if I could keel wid’ my own hand, doze 
’ippocrites who say ‘ mean well ’ ! Don’t think me 
mad, Jean ’Emingway,” she hurtled on, unconscious 
in her excitement that all her English “ h’s ” were 
being left behind. “ I know but onlee too well what 
I now speak of. So it was my mother said, when she 
took me from my convent, — to make of me the — the 
— creature of the foulest man on earth. Now you 
understan’ just why doze words are, for me, the Rus- 
sian knout-lash.” 

John, tingling under another lash, gave a low cry 
and sprang toward her. 

“No! No!” she exclaimed, checking him by a 
wild gesture. “ Please come not. I mus’ fight alone 
for a little ! ” 

There was nothing for him but a return to the 
just-vacated chair. The room seemed packed and 
charged with a sinister magnetism. No sound was 
heard but a soft whipping to and fro of trailing 


138 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


silk. He bent over, hiding his eyes with his hands. 

So he sat through the storm. After an interval in 
which he seemed to himself to have grown ten years 
older, he was conscious of tense silence, and knew 
that Inez was beginning to win her battle for self- 
control. 

He ventured to look up. She was standing by 
one of the front windows, her forehead pressed against 
a closed pane of glass. Every few moments a shud- 
der ran over her ; but they gradually became farther 
and farther apart. At length she drew a long, long 
sigh and turned. 

‘‘ Inez ! ” the man cried, and now she did not check 
his swift advance. 

“ Do not be sorry,” she whispered thro-ugh lips 
that still twitched. “ I ’ave fight wid de beasts at 
Ephesus.” 

“ Inez ! ” he cried again, brokenly. 

She gave one upward frightened glance. ‘‘ Not 
now, — not now,” she shivered. ‘‘ There are things — 
I cannot listen now.” 

‘‘ Then I must leave you,” he said gravely. 

Again she raised the terrified look. Now there 
was pleading in it. 

No, — do not leave me.” 

At that he took her in his arms and she, clinging to 
him, wept as he had never thought to hear a woman 
weep. Between her sobs could be heard disjointed 
syllables, or at times entire words. More than once 


THE FIRST LESSON 


139 


he caught ‘‘ impossible.” Then came the broken sen- 
tence, “ You never could tolerate,” and after it, the 
hated name “ Carant-Dozie.” 

Wisely he made no attempt to answer, only held 
her close, pressing his lips again and again upon her 
thick fragrant haii'. 

But how had it happened? He had assured him- 
self so often that there could be nothing but friend- 
ship between him and this beautiful Strange Woman. 
He had felt so sure of himself, and now, all in a mo- 
ment, she was in his arms, and he, a mad infatuated 
lover, strained her to him as if he could never let her 
go. And by God, he never would! She was his 
mate, — the only woman in the world for him. Why 
should her money come between, — or her queer opin- 
ions ? Once his own, he could win her around to san- 
ity. Of course she was different from women at 
home. She would be criticised by them — misunder- 
stood, — perhaps affronted. There was no law com- 
pelling him to keep his wife forever in one spot. His 
wife! The rapture almost sickened him. Could it 
be he, John Hemingway of Delphi, Iowa, thus think- 
ing some day to possess that tropic, radiant spirit for 
his own? With her beside him he could afford to 
smile at Delphi’s Pharisaical condemnation. There 
was only one whose opinion really mattered — his 
mother ! 

This thought came, like a physical blow, straight 
between the eyes. Unconsciously his tense hold 


140 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


slackened. It was only for the fraction of an in- 
stant, but in that fraction the woman, also, suffered 
a subtle change. As he caught her nearer with an 
almost desperate strength, he felt that she struggled 
for release. One hand was set against his breast as 
a lever. She turned her face away, crying out, — 
‘‘ this, too, is over, Jean. You mus’ not hold me. I 
am quite now myself.” She gave a choking little 
laugh, meant to reassure him. 

“ You are not yourself,” he declared, with tender 
emphasis. “ Why, you shake like an aspen leaf ! 
Come over with me to the sofa.” 

“No, — no!” she protested, pushing still farther 
away. “ You have ’elp me, Jean, — my Jean. But 
now it is more kind if you go.” 

“ You will send me from you, like this? ” 

“ Like this, and now,'"’ she persisted. “ The day 
is passing. Soon servants will come to light the 
rooms. I wish you not to see me wid red eyes.” She 
pressed the scrap of handkerchief, in turn, against 
them. 

“ As if I cared about your eyes being red ! ” re- 
torted John. 

“ But I care. I care much. I do not wish to have 
you see me look so uglee.” 

“ Nonsense.” 

“ You will not go? ” she murmured faintly. 

“ I will not.” 

At this she drooped against him and began to weep 
anew. This time there was no vehemence or passion. 


THE FIRST LESSON 111 

Her sobs were those of an exhausted child who sees 
there is no hope. 

John stood it for two minutes. “Don’t cry like 
that ! ” he pleaded. “ Inez. Inez! Do you hear 
me. Good God, I can’t stand this! I’ll go if you 
really want it. But first — ” 

He put one shaking hand under her chin, lifting 
the tear-wet face. 

She made no resistance, only he felt the sob, sud- 
denly checked, pass into a long, suppressed shudder. 
His heart and head were both on fire, but through the 
flame his good angel touched him. 

“ No, — not like this,” he muttered. “ You were 
right. I had better go.” 

At the door he gave one backward glance. She 
had flung herself into his chair, her face buried 
against the cushioned back. He thought of a bruised 
white rose, wind-spent, and beaten to earth by sudden 
storm. 


CHAPTER XI 


JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER AND MEETS A FRIEND 

John bore, as if in upraised hands, his flaming 
spirit out into the early night. He glanced a little 
shyly at each passer-by. It seemed incredible that 
he could be thus self-consumed, a veritable Horeb’s 
bush of incandescent thought, yet give no outward, 
visible sign. It was with relief, mingled with vague 
astonishment, that he realised his ordinary incon- 
spicuousness. Not one curious glance had followed 
him. 

For hours he walked the streets, sometimes in drag- 
ging reverie, or again swiftly, under the touch of a 
leaping tongue of fire. More than once he crossed 
his own doorway. With the instinct common to all 
startled animals, he had made for the familiar lair, 
but whenever he paused, sending a tentative look up- 
wards, the thought came that man-built rooms were 
too small to contain this blazing whirlwind which 
lately had been himself. 

Fatigue, clutching at last the pulse of his .excite- 
ment, drew him within, and up the narrow stairs. 
Surely he must sleep now! He stumbled into his 
room and sank, an inert mass, into the nearest chair. 
All at once the bewildering excitation went. He felt 


JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 


143 


like his mother’s scrap-basket, emptied by a single 
turn of the wrist, upon a wide, bare floor. 

He sat on in the darkness. A sort of stupor be- 
gan to creep upon him. He got into bed, but, once 
there, realised that normal sleep was not for him. 
A wide-eyed staring, dulled by reaction, was the best 
that he could hope for. 

Dawn, planting lean elbows on the casement, held 
forth another problem for his survey. “ What ought 
to be his next move in regard to Inez? ” Silence 
would be an affront. He thought of telephoning, but 
he had never used a French telephone, and an initial 
effort would surely be accompanied by ludicrous mis- 
takes, peculiarly unsuitable to the present condition 
of affairs. He could write her a note, — of course. 
Or he could send flowers. With this inspiration, he 
sprang out of bed. It was the one perfect thing to 
do. On his way to the Ecole he would stop at some 
florist’s and there select whatever blossoms that 
seemed to commend themselves. One thing was clear. 
This time it should not be the usual pink roses. 
They belonged to that remote period of time before 
he had held her in his arms. 

This decision taken, he felt himself, emotionally, 
upon his feet once again. The remainder of the day 
could wait. Inez would surely thank him for the 
flowers, and her message would be a clue for fur- 
ther conduct. 

He dressed quickly in order to give himself time for 
careful choice. It was well that he did so. The 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


lU 

fringe of the Latin Quarter held, as he was now to 
discover, no showy “ establishments ” for selling 
flowers. There were many small, wheeled booths, 
drawn up in ranks along the Quai aux Fleurs, and 
presided over by ancient, hawk-like dames all, appar- 
ently, of one family with the shrew who had con- 
founded him, some weeks before, in the square of 
St. Germain des Pres. Frowning, with eyes deter- 
minedly bent to the stone flags, he ran their shrill 
gauntlet, and then crossed on foot the little bridge d’ 
Arcole. 

Here, hailing a taxi-cab, he was soon on the boule- 
vards, where plate-glass windows, crowded with peer- 
ing blooms, glowed out from every block. Within 
the most pretentious of them all he hurried. The 
width of choice bewildered him, until at length he 
noted a tall vase filled with princess lilies. 

He drew nearer, looking at them critically. The 
petals were like whorls of warm ivory ; and near the 
heart of each was a glow of pink. ‘‘ Don’t you see 
that we were grown for her, and for this hour.? ” their 
fragrance whispered. 

“ I’ll take those, — all of them,” said J ohn ab- 
ruptly, to the smiling proprietaire who stood beside 
him. “ I want them put into a long box of very pale 
green, and tied with a silver ribbon. They are to be 
sent — ” here he took out his card and wrote the ad- 
dress. 

“ Young Monsieur is an artist, — n'est-ce pas? ” 
the Frenchman ventured. 


JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 


145 


John, giving no reply, stalked out, at which the 
other, chuckling, said to himself, “ And not so much 
the artist as the lover. Mon Dieu, if only once more 
I could scowl like that ! ” 

John walked back to the Ecole. The day man- 
aged to creep past. With something of the same 
wonder he had felt the night before on realising that 
the most terrific inward holocaust could bring no out- 
ward change, he now smiled grimly to find himself 
drawing straight lines and calculating “ stresses ” 
as if there were no Strange Woman in the world. 

On his way home he became conscious of a grow- 
ing excitement. Surely a note would be lying on the 
comer of the draughting table. The last flight of 
steps were taken two at a time. 

Yes, there it was ! He had never seen Inez’ hand- 
writing except on the edge of a menu card, and then 
she was laughing so that the pencil shook. He had 
never considered what sort of stationery she might 
affect, but, long before he touched it, the plain en- 
velope with its strong, unusual superscription, cried 
out that it had come from no hand but hers. 

As he caught it up, his knees weakened. He gave 
an impatient exclamation at this folly, and stiffened 
his lips into a straight line. Nevertheless the hand 
that opened the letter trembled. 

‘‘ Dear, dear friend,” it began. I thank you for 
the exquisite flowers. They have spoken your 
thoughts. As I write, two of them lie upon my 
breast. 


146 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


‘‘ I am leaving Paris. When you read this I shall 
already be on the train, speeding very, very far 
away. No one, not even my servants, know where I 
am to go ; and letters are not to be forwarded. In 
one month I shall write to you again. Inez.” 

He had read standing. Now he seated himself and 
read again. 

His first sensation was that of mere vacuum. The 
air about him thinned as if the oxygen were being 
stealthily withdrawn. His mind grew still and clear. 
Almost he seemed to be looking through the window at 
himself. With hands resting lightly on the two arms 
of his chair, he sat motionless, waiting for more poig- 
nant infelicity. Surely it was to follow. Pain, in- 
dignation, anger, — a screaming flock, — should be 
well on their way. 

He bowed his head, but nothing happened. What 
could be wrong.? In the few novels John had read 
the lover, on receiving such a shock, invariably 

stared straight before him as one dazed,” and then 
exploded into pyrotechmics of despair. Indubitably 
he had received a shock ; and, with equal certainty, he 
was a lover. What, then, was the significance of this 
pleasant calm? 

The puzzled look grew. He glanced around, as if 
the tardy Furies might be hiding behind furniture. 
Not one black feather showed. The atmosphere re- 
mained tranquil. Even the truant oxygen stole back. 

Then a voice, commonplace, but strangely cheer- 


JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 


147 


ing, lifted somewhere within him. “ She could not 
possibly have done a more considerate or tactful 
thing,” it asseverated. 

John pondered for a moment. ‘‘ By George, — it’s 
the truth. She couldn’t ! ” he cried aloud, whereat 
the two voices joined as two rills coursing down a 
rain-beaten window, merging into a congratulatory 
one. 

The young man sprang to his feet, threw back his 
shoulders to their utmost tension, and spread his 
arms wide. In the instinctive, physical movement the 
last filament of mental doubt snapped, and he realised 
his chief emotion to be one of relief. 

Having admitted, he now gloated over the convic- 
tion. Thank Heaven that he and common sense 
were not yet strangers ! Perhaps romantic hearts 
would scorn him. Inez herself, could she know, might 
feel it a subtle affront. 

But was it certain that she did not know.'^ This 
thought, striking like a blunt spear, checked midway 
a second luxurious spread of muscles. Inez was a 
very witch for intuition. She could see, deep down 
into a companion’s mind, the play of half-formed 
thoughts and impulses, moving and standing still like 
silver-shadow fishes in a stream. Of course she 
knew. She had vanished in order to produce this 
exact result. 

For some reason this last reflection jarred. No 
normal man relishes the thought that his future state 


148 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


of mind had been not only predicted, but used as casu- 
ally as one might a red brick in an architectural 
foundation. Perhaps she knew already, — or 
thought she knew, — what she would write in the 
promised letter of a month, and what would be its in- 
evitable effect. 

Well, there was no use to trouble himself about 
that now. At least the month was tangible, — a 
given fact. It was not too long a time for the lay- 
ing out of his entire life-to-be. Of course he should 
miss her horribly. Already he was missing her, but it 
had been an inspiration for her to leave him free of 
her bewildering presence. Who could think sanely 
in a Persian garden.? 

Then there w'as Charlie. Without Inez, Paris 
would he as empty as a synagogue on Sunday. After 
all, it would be a rather pleasing sight, that famihar, 
grinning “ mug ” of Charlie Abbey’s at the syna- 
gogue door ! 

Arc lights from the street began to gleam and 
sputter. John moved slowly to the window, and 
stood, staring, upon them. Last night his heart and 
soul had been each a globe of flame. By contrast he 
now seemed cold, but it was only that the fire had 
eaten deeper, and was burning with a steady and in- 
extinguishable light. His love for Inez, startled into 
being, and too suddenly revealed, was, nevertheless, 
love, — the sort of love a man can know but for a 
single woman. He had not dared think out, as yet, 
what might be the full measure of her love for him. 


JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 


149 


It was enough that she had told him that she needed 
him, — that she had let him hold her against his 
breast. 

Now he turned back into the room, — into shadow. 
He did not speak aloud, or even give the pledge a con- 
scious form of words ; but, as deeply as it is given 
man to make covenant with his own soul he swore that, 
whatever the handicaps, — Inez’ wealth, their dif- 
ference of opinions, opposition and prejudice of those 
he loved at home, — he would some day win this 
woman for his wife. 

Half an hour later he caught up his hat and went 
out, searching for the small cafe where he and Inez 
had had their first tea together. By good fortune 
he was able to secure the same table. He ate what 
was brought him. Across the table he could almost 
see the vivid, delicate, ever-changing face. Yes, he 
would miss her. God ! How much ! 

Returning to his room, his eyes still soft with vi- 
sions, he went to his desk and, for the first time, wrote 
of Madame de Pierrefond to his mother. In conclud- 
ing the letter, he said, “ Madame de Pierrefond has 
just left Paris for an absence of at least a month. I 
shall miss her companionship greatly. On the other 
hand it will give me lots more time to be with Charlie. 
I am positively impatient for the boy to come and 
know I shall talk the poor chap to death. There are 
so many questions I want to ask him about home and 

The days preceding Charlie’s arrival were filled 


1,50 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


and packed to overflowing with sunshine and with 
work. If hours of reaction threatened, John fought 
them back. He had been able to get from ‘‘ Ma- 
dame,” his landlady, a cheerful front room on the 
floor beneath his own. The more delicate matter of 
finding a ‘‘ cheap ” painting-master would have to 
wait. 

John found that by taking an early morning train 
on July fourteenth, he could reach Boulogne in ample 
time. With the first glimpse of Charlie’s red and ea- 
ger face, peering out from the throng aboard his 
steamer’s ‘‘ lighter,” the universe held nothing for 
John but thoughts and questionings of home. On the 
short trip to Paris, they talked incessantly. If, once 
in a while the newcomer ventured an interested glance 
out of the window, John cruelly caught him back. 

‘‘ The country is all the same along here,” he ex- 
postulated, laughing. “ If you’ve seen any, you’ve 
seen all. There’s no hold-up for you yet. Now be 
a good boy and tell me all over again that mother is 
looking bully, and hasn’t grown older by a day.” 

In the big front room on the Rue de Vaugirard 
came the excitement of getting Charlie’s ‘‘ boxes ” 
into place. After this he had to run upstairs for an 
inspection of John’s apartments. ‘‘ That blessed 
mother of yours has made me promise to take some 
kodaks of your rooms,” he told John. 

As if two floors were not enough, the excited boy 
insisted on going into Madame’s sacred haunt, the 
kitchen, greeting the astonished matron with a 


JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 


151 


“ Bonne jewer ’’ so fervent, that her stiff mustachios 
trembled, and she bowed the answering anachronism 
without consciousness of the fact that it was well on 
into the afternoon. 

In another hour Charlie was on terms of friendship 
with the entire household. He went about scattering 
bright exclamations of approval as a canary splashes 
water from its bath. 

Next morning the two Delphinians had their coffee 
and rolls together. There were many rolls, a 
heaped-up golden dish of them, and a glass jar filled 
with honey. J ohn made no comment on the unsolici- 
ted and disproportionate increase, but it hurt him 
just a little. “ What was the difference between him- 
self and Charlie? ” he wondered. These people under 
whose roof he had lived for a year were still 
strangers, while, in a few hours, Charlie had won 
them for friends. Perhaps it was because Charlie 
was glad to be away from home, while he, John — 
There was no need to finish. The faint chagrin had 
already disappeared. If it takes little to sting the 
vanity of man, it takes still less to soothe it. 

Now John looked at his watch, declaring it time 
to be off, Charlie, who had been toying with the 
honey-pot, sprang up also. He wore an air of alert 
readiness. “ Can’t shake me ! ” he exclaimed, in an- 
swer to John’s expression of surprise. “ I’m going 
too.” 

‘‘ Going where ? ” 

To school with little Johnny.” 


152 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


But you can’t, — you idiot,” laughed John. 
“ You haven’t entered.” 

“ Neither had you until you went in first. Now 
it’s my time. Don’t they teach painting in that 
joint, as well as architecture.? ” 

“Why, so they do,” conceded John. This 
thought had never entered his head before. What 
was that remark of Inez’ about his tendency to segre- 
gate the Arts as one does church creeds ? 

“ Look here, old horse,” said Charlie, as they 
started off together, “ you’ve got a sort of hook-worm 
stare at times, — and a cupidy smirk about the gills. 
I have a hunch that you’re in love.” 

“ Nonsense,” cried John, “ I know only one woman 
in Paris, and she’s not in it.” 

“ Some Irish bull, that,” meditated the younger 
man. “ But honest, now, do you really mean that 
you know only oTief ” 

“ One only,” reiterated John. “ And that is quite 
enough. I didn’t come to Paris to play around.” 

“ Bet that one’s a pippin,” remarked Charlie, hope- 
fully. 

John disdained reply. 

They walked in brisk silence for a little, then 
Charlie, in a sort of rhythmic croon, began to solilo- 
quise. 

“ He’s been in gay Paree a whole long year, and 
knows but one fair dame, who is not in it. One 
year, and one fair dame. There’s safety in a multi- 
tude we’re told, yet Johnny knows but one, and she’s 


JOHN RECEIVES A LETTER 


153 


enough, — oh, quite, — some quite, — enough. I won- 
der what’s the answer ? ” 

He paused. No answer being vouchsafed, he now 
began to whistle, “ There’s only one girl in the world 
for me.” 

John stood it just three minutes. 

‘‘ Now, kid, — you listen here,” he burst out, turn- 
ing a face flushed with self-consciousness and 
laughter. I guess we’d better settle this and have 
it over. This friend of mine, — friendy’’ he repeated 
meaningly, “ is not in the girl or pippin class at all. 
I don’t want her joked about. Get that.^^ ” 

Charlie looked sulky, and flinging his head away, 
muttered an unintelligible apology. 

“ She is an American, — a widow,” J ohn went on, 

and has both position and wealth, — worse luck ! ” 
The last two words were under his breath. “ Her 
name is Madame de Pierrefond.” 

Charlie’s sulks vanished. “ Madame de Pierre- 
fond ! ” he echoed. “ I say, John, that’s some high- 
sounding title! Has she a real title ” 

“ I believe her husband was some sort of noble- 
man,” admitted J ohn, trying not to wince. 

“ Gee ! Do you s’pose I’ll ever get a peek at her.^ ” 
Of course. She knows all about you now. 
When she gets back home I’m to take you to call.” 

Now what do you think of that.^^ ” whispered 
Charlie, in an awe-struck tone. The glamour of 
high-life dazzled him. 

‘‘ I’m on,” he sighed, after a chastened interval. 


154 i THE STRANGE WOMAN 

“ It’s Charlie-on- the-door-mat from now to never- 
more.” 

If John had pictured himself beforehand, in the 
role of guide, philosopher and friend to a Western 
tenderfoot, he soon found that the position threat- 
ened to be reversed. Where, in a year, he had formed 
among his fellow-workers not a single intimate, 
Charlie, in three days’ time, was centring a group. 
His gaiety was irresistible. He saw no faults in any- 
thing, and was prepared to love everybody. John 
watched him with a queer mingling of pride and envy. 
There were times when he felt himself old, — “ stiff,” 
as Charlie, more than once, had frankly called him, 
— a self-centred prig whom the other fellows had 
done well to ignore. 

More from a sense of responsibility than any desire 
to participate, he joined Charlie on several of the 
“ little sprees ” that were beginning to be of nightly 
occurrence. Already the boy was one of a congenial 
‘‘ bunch,” most of them American students, boys and 
girls, in their teens or very early twenties, and all, 
as far as John could judge, the same frank, joyous, 
clean-minded young animals as could be found in any 
Western village. 

Having thus investigated, John gave himself over 
to thoughts of Inez and her forthcoming letter. 


CHAPTER XII 


ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 

The post that brought it was an early one. Felice 
brought it up on the breakfast tray. The two young 
men were already seated. John, with the prehensile 
eye of the lover saw it first, reached out, and slipped 
it hastily into an inner pocket. He hoped devoutly 
that Charlie had not taken notice, but a glance at the 
youth’s too innocent countenance proclaimed, louder 
than any words, the undesired fact. But at least the 
observer was considerate and, true to his door-mat 
policy, refrained from comment. 

All the forenoon John worked, the letter still un- 
opened in his pocket. The post-mark was Berlin. 
Why, of all places, should she have chosen this scene 
of her unhappy marriage? He could not fathom an 
impulse so different from his own, yet he knew that 
she had done it only after deliberate thought. 
What its influence had been the letter would reveal. 
Somehow, with the passing of the hours, John felt an 
increasing dread of opening it. He grew more and 
more restive. Concentration upon his given task be- 
came an impossibility. A few moments before the 
luncheon hour he slipped away. He could not meet, 
again, the simulated unconcern in Charlie’s eyes. 

A sudden longing came to be off to himself, — ‘ 

among green fields. They would serve as a sort of 
155 


156 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


antidote to Berlin. The vision of little Robinson 
flashed into his mind. Surely that, of all places, 
would be the most appropriate for opening her let- 
ter. On an ordinary week-day like this the small re- 
sort would be practically empty. 

Making for the square of St. Germain des Pres he 
was fortunate enough to find a car for Sceaux just 
on the point of starting. His ancient enemy, the 
flower-seller, spying him in flight, snapped derision 
both with her fingers and her beady eyes, but John 
did not even see her. 

Sceaux was, as usual, a busy, lived-in town; but 
on the approach, by foot, to Robinson, there fell a 
blight of emptiness akin to desolation. The leaves 
of the huge chestnut trees were beginning already to 
show the approach of autumn. Many were yellow, 
and curled about the edges. Up in the old tree he 
found the platform strewn with them, and had to 
brush away a protesting armful to make place for 
himself upon the wooden bench. Here in shadow the 
air held an acrid odour of dissolution. He wished 
that he had chosen some other and more genial spot. 
But to return now, without having read, would be 
childish. With a sigh he drew forth the envelope, 
staring long at the strong, clear handwriting, the 
German stamp and the ornate postmark, and finally, 
after an impatient jog to his will-power, opened it. 

The note was short. Almost it seemed a travesty 
to have brought the few lines so far. There was no 
beginning and no signature. 


ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 157 


“ On the first Sunday in September, at three in the 
afternoon, I shall be at the foot of the Winged Vic- 
tory. If you do not come, I shall understand.” 

He returned it carefully to the envelope. All at 
once he felt both satisfied and strong. How little 
her words had said, and yet how very much ! In 
modern American parlance it was up to him,” just 
as it should be. There was no room left even for self" 
debate. That, too, was as it should be. Of course 
he would be there. His great resolve, taken even be- 
fore her first letter came, led forth, like a Roman road. 
Now, more than ever he assured himself that there 
need be no by-paths, no ambuscades of doubt. 
They could face each other squarely, soul to soul, on 
the broad highway of life, suiting their steps one to 
the other. 

In the ensuing weeks John, had he been self-ana- 
lytical, might well have marvelled at the calm and 
security of his heart. Inez was not yet won. He 
foresaw obstacles other than the tangible ones al- 
ready stated. It would take devotion, tenderness, 
logic, and, perhaps, years to turn her away from the 
pernicious doctrines which, in her loneliness, she had 
acquired. 

John had had practically no experience with 
women. He was as far as possible removed from 
the type of male braggart who thinks each woman 
vincible to his spell; and yet here he was, not only 
daring to lift his eyes to the most brilliant and beau- 
tiful of them all, but down in his nature, deeply. 


158 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


contentedly, integrally sure that she was some day 
to be his wife. 

Long before three o’clock, when the first Sunday 
in September came around, he was at the Louvre, 
taking his place on the broad landing at the top of 
the main inner stairway, which, spreading to right 
and left, lies as a threshold to the Victory. 

Though the great entrance corridor was far, he 
saw Inez as she entered it, — a slim, swaying, grey- 
clad figure that walked slowly, with down-bent head 
and empty hands. Drawing back into the shadow 
of the Charioteer, he watched her, feeding his hun- 
gry eyes upon her loveliness. 

She advanced without haste, not once raising her 
lowered lids. Even at a distance he could see that 
her face was pale. Her whole figure had a tense, 
still look. She might, John thought, have been a 
hushed novitiate nearing the altar of her final con- 
secration, or — and here his heart reeled — a bride, 
swept on a great, slow-moving tide of happiness, 
toward her chosen mate. 

As in a reverie she mounted the stairway, white 
step on step. John’s rapture almost hurt him. 
Was there ever a woman quite so exquisitely poised 
before! He thought of young poplars by a quiet 
stream. As she reached the landing he met her, 
holding out both his hands. She laid her own in 
them, and, for a long moment, they looked into one 
another’s eyes. 

Still, without speaking, they moved toward the lit- 


ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 159 


tie red velvet sofa where they had sat so many weeks 
before. John kept one of the hands in his. Now 
turning it palm-upward he raised it gently, press- 
ing his lips into the little warm nest of pink that 
the grey glove had left bare. 

At this she smiled. Why did you come, my 
Jean.? ” 

He, with grave, steadfast eyes on hers, answered 
gravely, “ Because I love you and shall win you for 
my wife.” 

She turned her face, drawing in a long breath. 
He waited without speaking. 

‘‘ Yes-s, — it is true. You love me,” she breathed, 
at last. 

John steadied himself. I do. Neither of us 
can realise how much, — just yet,” he told her. 
Then, feeling it should be said at once, went on, 
“ Of course, — as you know, — I have very little to 
offer. I cannot ask you to become my wife this 
very day, — which is the thing my soul cries out for. 
I shall have to make some sort of professional head- 
way, — get on my feet financially, before — ” 

She lifted her head so quickly that he paused. 
“You mean, — monee.?” she questioned. 

Seeing the answer in his face she gave a gesture 
of disdain. “ Ouf ! Monee in itself is nussing. I 
’ave it, — yes — ’eaps.” 

Her tone and manner would seem to relegate this 
mainspring of existence to the negligible status of 
a fallen leaf. Through his amused tenderness John 


160 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


was conscious of noting how, in these weeks of ab- 
sence, her English had become newly blurred. 

‘‘ For your sake I am glad to hear it,” he replied, 
“ but the fact that you are well off can have nothing 
to do with me.” 

Inez frowned. ’Ow, — nussing to do wid you? ” 

she demanded. 

« Why,” stammered John, a little embarrassed be- 
fore her challenging look, “ it’s so fundamental that 
I shouldn’t think you’d need me to explain. If you 
have money, it is yours. That means it isn’t mine. 
Surely you must see that.” 

The frown flashed into relief. “ Owl , — yes-s. I 
pairceive. ’Ow stupid! Then, — I weel geeve it all 
to you, my Jean.” 

John did not know whether to laugh or to wipe his 
eyes. “You blessed, unworldly darling!” he cried 
out, restraining with difficulty his desire to catch her 
to his breast. “ I believe you mean it honestly, — 
but that is something I could not accept, — least of 
all from the woman who is to become my wife.” 

Inez, with an impatient twist of her whole flexible 
body, drew back from him. Her face darkened, but 
her eyes gleamed ominously. 

“ That is the speech of out-worn traditions,” she 
accused. “ It comes not from the real mind of you. 
Soon you shall begin to make the, — what do you 
say? — the — the distinguishment, for yo’self. 
You would not hesitate to share wid de good com- 


ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 161 


rade, — no ! — but when it comes to sharing wid yo’ 
wife! ” She paused, breathless with a sense of cli- 
max. 

But her last word, outflung like a torch, blinded 
her companion to all else. 

“ Oh, Inez ! ” he cried, his voice breaking. “ Say 
it again. This is the first time you have spoken it.” 

“'Spoken what? ” stared Inez, in genuine amaze- 
ment. 

“ That sweetest, most sacred word in all our lan- 
guage, — the word, — wife! ” He leaned forward, 
caught up both her hands, and began kissing them 
impartially. 

The eyes that watched him slowly cleared into full 
apprehension of his thought. She gave a little 
gasp, then bit her lips, as if to restrain impetuous 
speech. Now she looked up, and around her. 

“Be more composed, my Jean,” she murmured, 
stifling a nervous laugh. “ Many peoples are en- 
joying the watch of us.” 

He too glanced up, and then flushed angrily. 

Quite a group surrounded them — though at a 
decorous distance. Some stared in frank amuse- 
ment; others, more considerate, sent covert smiles 
over half-turned shoulders. John, with a smothered 
oath, sprang up. 

“ Come, my dear,” he said in a voice unnecessarily 
loud and commanding, “ let us leave this menagerie 
of apes, and go home.” 


162 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


He jerked, rather than drew, one grey-gloved 
hand through his arm, and stalked in the direction 
of the stairway. 

Inez, a curved mass of suppressed laughter, could 
scarcely keep pace with him. 

“ Stop giggling ! ” he ordered. I want those 
fools to think we are already married.” 

‘‘ And ’ave you, my poor Jean,” she asked, as soon 
as she could speak intelligibly, any ’ope that you 
so deceive those fools.?” Her eyes sparkled and 
danced with the delight of teasing him. 

‘‘ Why not? ” he gave a brusque reply. John did 
not enjoy being laughed at. 

“ I don’t agree with you at all,” returned the 
young man stiffly. “ When once you are my 
wife — ” 

Well, well,” she broke in, “ we cannot argue a 
question so intimate upon de Louvre stairs. As you 
said, we shall now go ’ome. Home,^* she repeated 
softly, and with a more careful enunciation, seeing 
that he hesitated. Will you not come home with 
me, my Jean? ” 

No surly mood could last beside a bubbling spring 
of joy. Before the taxi-cab had turned its first cor- 
ner, John’s offended dignity was merged in pure 
bliss. 

Within the beautiful and well-remembered rooms 
it flared into excitement. Wheeling to his compan- 
ion he strained her against his heart, kissing her 
hair, her eyelids, and, for the first time, her mouth. 


ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 163 


She yielded, shivering, but now the tremor was of 
answering ecstasy. 

I can’t believe it yet, — it’s all too wonderful ! ” 
John faltered, smothering the words against her lips. 

‘‘ I’m drunk, — dizzy, — with happiness. Inez, — 
you have never yet said that you love me ! ” 

“I — I — love you, Jean,” she panted, feebly at- 
tempting escape, “ but you do not allow me the 
breathe to say annysing.” 

“ And you have promised, — that just as soon as 
I make good, you’ll marry me.” 

‘‘ Go ’way ! ” cried Inez, fighting him off in a laugh- 
ing pretence of fear. ‘‘ I have not say so. I do not 
care for hand-cuffs. Now you must let me get the 
breathe.” 

‘‘ Then say so now. Promise me this minute, — 
then you shall breathe.” 

‘‘ First I shall breathe,” asserted Inez, in bright 
defiance. 

He made a determined stride, but she eluded him, 
and before he could prevent, had seated herself at 
the piano. 

He put his hands upon her shoulders as if to drag 
her back. 

“ Now, Jean,” she coaxed, “ go over to your leetle 
nook and sit down, like a good boy. I will sing.” 

But suppose I don’t want you to sing. It keeps 
you too far away.” 

« It is a love-song I will sing my Jean,” she mur- 
mured. All the witchery and compelling power of 


164 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


all her sex was vibrant in the low, rich voice, and in 
the one swift, upward glance she sent him. 

John knew that he was vanquished. “ Just an- 
other kiss,” he pleaded, “ just one, and I’ll go.” 

‘‘Bandit! You said just one,” Inez protested 
indignantly when, at last, she was able to free herself. 
“ That was a whole constellation ! A constellation 
of shooting-stars at zat. Now go at once, — naugh- 
tee!” 

John obediently turned away. Inez began the 
first notes of an old ballad, vaguely familiar. Be- 
fore his allotted chair, John paused. There was no 
use trying to sit still. Every nerve and fibre of his 
body tingled. 

The song grew more distinct. 

“ Look here, Inez,” he interrupted boldly, “ that 
isn’t any love-song. It’s a dirge.” 

Inez and the piano^stool whirled as one unit. “ I 
am surprise at you, Meester ’Emingway. ’Ave you 
no temperament at all.? It is fitting for great hap- 
piness to ’ave the minor strain along wid it. It is 
for that I sing ‘ Loch Lomond.’ ” 

“ I’m sorry,” said J ohn in the tone one invariably 
uses when one is not, “ but I don’t care for just that 
sort of minor. Don’t you happen to know ‘ Believe 
Me if All Those Endearing Young Charms ’.? ” 

“ Yes, I happen,” answered the singer, struggling 
heroically to preserve her gravity. “ Also I know 
‘ Darby and Joan,’ and that chef-d’oeuvre, ‘ Silver 
Threads among de Gol’.’ But never mind! You 


ON THE THRESHOLD OF VICTORY 165 


’ave destroy my desire to sing.” At these words 
she sprang up, making toward the nearest electric 
bell. “ All now that I wish, is tea.” 

‘‘ Suits me,” said John. “ Fm radiating rapture 
as a hot water bottle does heat. So long as I can 
look at you, I don’t care what else is taking place.” 

They played “ tea-party ” like two happy chil- 
dren. Later on the hostess informed him that he 
was to stop for dinner. In acceding John suggested 
returning to his rooms for a change into more con- 
ventional garments. 

No,” Inez interposed. “ There will be only our 
two selves, and I like the grey clothes of you now, 
particularly ” — here the mischievous gleam slid into 
place — “ wid a pink rose in de button-’ole.” 

Pausing to regard, intently, the crushed pink 
blur that now adorned it, she inquired innocently, 
‘‘ now what could have so sadly demolish de little pink 
rose of to-day ” After an interval packed close 
with rainbow-stuff not easily described, Inez drew 
away, and continued, demurely, ‘‘ But even if you do 
not, I wish to dress for dinner. I ’ave a new gown. 
It is deeferent from my others, an’ I think, beautiful. 
I wish you to see it first of any. Will you remain 
here while I change ? ” 

“ I’m afraid to risk it,” he told her gravely, 
though his eyes, too, were beginning to twinkle. 
‘‘ One of these emotional brain-storms might take me 
in the middle of your toilet, and I should burst in all 
your doors.” 


il66 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ Mon dieu! ” cried Inez, with a tiny scream. 

An’ think of the scandal. My maid, Celeste, — 
she was born wid no morals, an’ de ’ole has got 
deeper every day, — yet she is so easily shock! Go 
quick, my Jean. I ’ave begun to tremble. But 
where at will you go ? ” 

‘‘ Not far,” he laughed. ‘‘ It doesn’t matter 
where. I shall see nothing but your face, — feel 
nothing but these dear lips that starve me even while 
they satisfy.” 

You — you — make me dizzy also, wid such 
strong kisses,” Inez said, hysterically, as, at last, he 
let her go. “ I think you had better walk to some 
distance, Jean, while I make ready for our little 
feast.” 

All right,” laughed John. There was a light of 
mastery in his eyes. “ Is the Garden of the Tuileries 
far enough? ” 

She nodded, and as, once more, he stretched out 
longing arms, fled through the long rooms and shut 
a door. 


CHAPTER XIII 


INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 

Returning, an hour later, with a second sheaf of 
princess lilies and, in his buttonhole a fresh cluster 
of pink roses, the door was opened to John’s knock 
by Fran9ois, the footman, in full livery. He pre- 
sented the same wooden countenance which, on the 
occasion of the American’s first call, had unsuccess- 
fully concealed contempt. Now, to the very angles 
of his elbows there was servility, concession, defer- 
ence. Each servant in a household is an emotional 
thermometer, registering, with magic swiftness, the 
varying favours of the ruling power. 

Within the closed door Francois even went so far 
as to clear his throat, a demonstration so unusual 
that John turned to look at him. A hand, depre- 
cating, tentative, was stretched forth in the direction 
of the box of flowers. 

“ Thank you. I’ll carry them up myself,” said 
John, and assuaged the slight by a bestowal of his 
straw hat. Fran9ois received it as a vessel of holy 
water. 

Mounting the long, polished stairway, John’s lips 
began to twitch. Evidently the servants were ‘‘ on.” 
The thought was far from displeasing. But there 
were other thoughts behind the visitor’s smile. In 
167 


168 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


the afternoon a maid had been in attendance upon 
the door. The sudden exchange to rran9ois, in 
what appeared a brand new uniform, betokened a 
deliberate access of ceremony. Inez was to dazzle 
him in more ways than a new gown. 

Well, he would take her cue. During the after- 
noon they had been merely human lovers. To-night, 
as hostess, she was to be in the role of grande dame. 
He knew that she would do it beautifully, as she did 
all else. Now that essentials were secure, it would be 
rather a lark to meet her half way. 

He straightened his shoulders and wished that he 
had insisted on wearing dinner clothes. The large 
box, too, offered impediment to dignity. A loaded 
pack-horse could scarcely curvet like a racer. 

At the top of the stairs an inspiration came. He 
would leave the box in the hall. This done, he threw 
his head still higher, and, assuming the air of a con- 
queror, walked into the room. 

Inez, from the far end, sped to welcome him. At 
sight of her, his just-acquired part split like an over- 
ripe pod, revealing, in an iridescent instant, the 
amazed and delighted man. He was yet to learn of 
all the subtleties concealed in the person of one 
Strange Woman. 

She came, noiselessly as moonlight sweeping across 
a field of open primroses. She was gowned, from 
shoulders to small pointed toes, in a luminous, pale 
yellow. Later on he accused her of having phos- 
phorus in the folds. 


INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 


169 


Around her slender throat was a string of topazes, 
each separated by a diamond, and in her hair two 
yellow butterflies close together, perched as if just 
alighted on a flower. 

The very mischief in her eyes was golden. The 
rich, yet tender colouring made her face, usually 
pale, glow like some tropic fruit steeped through 
with sunshine. 

“ You, — you witch! ” he managed to get out, at 
last. 

“ Madame de Pierrefond, — at your sairvice,” she 
curtseyed, mockingly. 

Routed by beauty, the young man turned away, 
and went meekly back into the hall to fetch his flow- 
ers. 

“ Here are some more of those same lilies,” he said, 
in a chastened voice, placing the unopened box upon 
the piano. “ I’m afraid they are not much of a 
match for that star-coloured gown.” 

“ Ah, but they are in themselves so very lovelee ! ” 
she exclaimed, when the lid at last uncovered them. 

Bring to me, please, that old fat Chinese jar of 
bronze. In it they will be mos’ artistique.” 

He watched her as she arranged them. In the 
spring salon had been more than one picture of a 
beautiful woman bending above flowers. Not one 
among them, John now thought, was fit to serve as 
a footstool to the warm, living, animated vision here. 

“ Voila! ” she cried, as the final whorl of petals 
nodded into place. “ It is the creation, yes! Now, 


170 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


my Jean, leeft up and place on the piano, here near 
the end, so we can view from every point.” 

‘‘ Who would waste time looking at earth-grown 
flowers with you in the room.? ” John declaimed, gal- 
lantlj^. He was beginning to feel himself again. 

“ So you like it, — the gown .? ” she murmured, 
looking up with eyes in which mischief, and a little 
touch of shyness blent. 

John took in a long breath. Yes, I like it,” he 
said. “ I believe it was spun in some moon-garden, 
and you lured it down.” 

“ Pouf ! ” she laughed. I would not ’ave it. I 
like not the extinct planet. For me, it mus’ be sum- 
sing that glows and bums. Rather would I wear a 
garment of deep orange-coloured poppies, grown in 
the fire of Mars.” 

John did not echo her laughter. ‘‘ Well,” he said, 
seriously, “ if you ever got within sight of Mars, 
you could have all he’s got. No one could resist 
you.” 

She was quick to note the slight despondency in 
his tone. 

“You are ’ongree!” she now declared. “Such 
silly talk means always that a man is ’ongree. We 
shall ’ave diner at the once.” 

She hurried across the room to an electric bell. 
John, as she passed, made a movement as though to 
take her in his arms, but apparently she did not see. 

“ Do you know, Inez,” he began, when she had 
pushed the bell and remained standing in an attitude 


INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 


171 


of expectancy beside it, “ sometimes it comes over me 
all in a heap, how incredible, — how almost impossi- 
ble it is that you should really care for a common- 
place, humdrum fellow like — ” 

Inez emitted a silvery shriek. Oh, but he is 
veree, veree ’ongree, my poor Jean! There is Fran- 
9ois at the door. You do well to come queeck.” 

He followed her, but there was no spring or joy in 
his measured steps. Beside the table she paused, 
giving a pretty gesture that held both pleading and 
a tinge of deprecation. 

“ It is fanciful, n^est-ce past Perhaps you think, 
too fanciful. But when I planned our first diner I 
’ad the — the — what is that fonnee American word 
you teach me.? — oh, yes, the ^unch — I ’ad the 
’unch, to make it, too, of golden hue. You do not 
hate it, no .? ” 

John, feasting his eyes upon the exquisite table, 
answered honestly, ‘‘ It is the loveliest thing I ever 
saw, — except just one.” 

And that just one is — me! ” laughed Inez, 
drawing her shoulders together like a gleeful school- 
girl. 

The round table was spread with old, ecru Span- 
ish lace. In the centre stood a wide, flat dish of 
water lying above yellow pebbles. About the edges 
grew clumps of primrose-coloured irises, and through 
the still water swam and curved a school of pigmy 
Japanese gold-fish, each dragging its long, unneces- 
sary three tails. 


17 ^ 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Above the table, and below the crystal chandelier, 
translucent, yellow butterflies swarmed. One could 
almost see them flutter, and only the closest scrutiny 
revealed the hair-like threads of golden wire. The 
porcelain was of white and gold, and the serviettes 
bordered deeply with Spanish lace. 

All the wines served were apparently of liquid to- 
paz; and even the courses of food, from the initial 
grapefruit heaped with white cherries and little 
cubes of pineapple, down to the ices moulded like or- 
anges and having natural stems and sprigs of foli- 
age, conserved, in some unexpected and always beau- 
tiful way, the dominant aureate tone. 

All through that wonderful evening John’s soul 
was played upon by alternating currents of exhilara- 
tion and despair. At times, staring at Inez under 
bent brows he would feel, with new poignancy, how 
hopeless it was for any one man to attempt posses- 
sion, utterly, of all moods, and thoughts and tender- 
nesses of a rainbow-thing like this. She was indeed 
made up of “ spirit and fire and dew.” As well 
might one try to grasp a perfume ! 

Then instantly, rushing into the chill vacuum of 
self-mistrust, would come the sirocco of masculine 
possession and he would cry, — now audibly to her, 
again more fiercely to himself, ‘‘ No, you have 
granted me the right to win you. I’ll do it, and 
hold you, too, though all the devils in hell swarm up- 
ward, and the stars fall, blocking my path to you.” 

It was not until he had reached the quiet of his 


INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 


17a 


rooms, and had locked the door against intrusion 
from the all-too-sociable Charlie, that he realised how 
little Inez had bound herself. Beyond admitting the 
supreme and glorious fact of loving him, she had 
promised nothing. Whenever he urged anything re- 
sembling a practical discussion of their future, she 
would find some means of escape, dancing into new 
topics as a wayward child, darting suddenly from 
the highroad, plunges into a field of flowers. Here, 
looking back at him she would beckon, at which the 
young man, already half-dazed with rapture, lost no 
time in following. 

Once, literally forcing her to listen, he asked per- 
mission to write of their engagement to his mother. 
He got no further than the word. 

‘‘ Engage-ment ! Engagement ! ” she mimicked. 
‘‘ That is so stupid a term, my Jean. One engages 
a domestique, n’est-ce pas? A chauffeur, if you like, 
or even an elderly companion. One does not engage 
a — a — butterfly ! ” Here she nodded airily until 
the two perched on her head whirled into a tarantelle. 

But you’re not a butterfly,” protested John, 
clinging desperately to his theme. ‘‘ You’re the 
most intelligent woman on this earth, and we both 
know it. Now you are deliberately playing with me. 
Why,” he urged, lowering his voice to pleading, 
are you unwilling to discuss the things you know 
are so close to my heart ” 

For answer, she nestled against him, and then, 
after an interval, whispered, “ Pairehaps that is just 


174 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


the why. X am jealous. I wish not anything but 
me, — just me, — to be near your heart this night.” 

This, very naturally, put an end to the discus- 
sion. John was defeated. He was always being de- 
feated, and each rout brought more ecstasy than the 
last. The male in him sounded a faint alarm, but 
Inez soon smothered the cry in rose-leaves. After 
all, as she had said, it was their first evening to- 
gether as acknowledged lovers. 

But here in his rooms, half a city removed from 
the enchantress, the puzzled thoughts continued to 
return. Why should she always shrink before such 
words as marriage, wifehood, betrothal ? She did not 
even wish him to write home of it. In agreeing that, 
next evening, he bring his friend “ Sharlie ” for a 
visit, she had said, laughingly, ‘‘ But I prefer that 
first you do not confide in him. He will know in 
good time.” 

It was with some trepidation, next morning at 
breakfast, that John delivered the gracious invita- 
tion. He was afraid that at least one fibre of his 
pride and happiness would show through the spoken 
words. But Charlie, excited on the instant at the 
prospect of meeting a lady of title, heeded nothing 
but the one joyous fact. All day long he was con- 
cerned with the choice of what clothes he should wear, 
whether his best was of the latest cut, and, above all 
how, amid such “ swell ” and unfamiliar surround- 
ings he was going to be able properly to conduct 
himself. John’s laughing asseveration that he 


INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 


175 


needn’t worry, for Madame de Pierrefond was merely 
a charming, unaffected American woman, brought 
resentment, rather than confidence. Already he had 
visions of gilded halls and an avenue of silk-legged 
footmen. It was with a recurrence of the faint sense 
of disappointment that he saw Madame de Pierre- 
fond’s door thrown wide by a single menial. Its 
calves, indeed, dilated unmistakable silk, but the grey 
tint seemed, to Charlie, unnecessarily demure. Up- 
stairs, however, where the long vista of lighted draw- 
ing-rooms, the mirrors, great jars of flowers, and 
soft blending hues made a sumptuous whole, the situ- 
ation began to brighten; and from the moment of 
Inez’ cordial hand-grasp, smooth waves of self-con- 
gratulation rocked his Western soul. 

Later on, when the dove-coloured menial, with 
voice and manner pitched to the finest edge of cere- 
mony announced Monsieur le Prince de Brieux and 
Madame la Princess, the waves frothed into jubila- 
tion. At last he was seeing life, — high life, — the 
kind he had read about in novels. How he would im- 
press the “ bunch ” to-morrow night. In hopeful 
anticipation of some such glittering eventuation as 
the present one, he had already arranged for a Latin 
Quarter “ spree.” Around the bare, though genial, 
boards of their favourite cheap restaurant, he would 
dispense condescension as heretofore he had handed 
out French rolls. Charlie had still a few things to 
learn about the Latin Quarter. 

But when it came to writing home — here, at 


176 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


least, his premises were secure, — he did not overesti- 
mate by one jot the pride and satisfaction of the Old 
Girl, the term in which he was wont, most disrespect- 
fully, to think of his mother. Almost he could see 
her in her tight-fitting bodice, and elbow-length white 
silk gloves, stepping into the basket pony phaeton 
for a round of visits in which to disseminate the re- 
flected glory. 

With an impulse of unconscious criticism, his eyes 
went again to Inez. She was standing, straight and 
tall, her head thrown back a little, her red lips smil- 
ing, as she waited for the approaching guests. It 
seemed to add to her own importance that she did 
not advance by an inch. Her gown this evening 
was the favourite grey, but the undertones were of 
pale, shimmering blue-green. She wore a girdle of 
almost barbaric beauty, great flat planes of mala- 
chite and lapis lazuli, woven together in dull Chinese 
gold. Around her head was a similar band, and her 
throat rose from a filigree of gold and smaller stones. 

Scarcely had she presented Madame and Monsieur 
le Brieux, and Madame, according to her custom, 
was making for the silver cigarette box, when other 
guests began to arrive. John, in spite of a lover’s 
impatience at this excess of interruption, could not 
hold back a grin of admiration to see how well Inez 
had sized up,” even before meeting, their young 
compatriot. Several of the newcomers were pos- 
sessed of titles, others were simply ‘‘ Madame ” and 


INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 


177 


Monsieur.” Ignoring the latter, Charlie, with 
naive and child-like snobbery, confined his wide-eyed 
interest to those who had. He had never quite re- 
covered from the overwhelming instant in which he 
had first bowed to the Princess, and several times had 
to wrench his gaze away, lest she should think he 
was staring. 

She was still a pretty woman, with a long dissatis- 
fied face, preternaturally white, and thin lips so 
deeply tinted that she appeared to have just finished 
a slice of blueberry pie. It never occurred to the 
ingenuous lad that neither of these tones was the out- 
come of natural processes. In his limited experience, 
“ ladies ” did not paint. That was a vice restricted 
to chorus girls, adventuresses and other unmention- 
able females. Mrs. Abbey had always been strong 
on the things that ladies ” did not do. 

Cigarette smoking was the one, perhaps, most in- 
sistently denounced; so now, as his fascinated eyes 
watched the Princess take up a small tube of white, 
lighting it with the dexterity of long practice, — he 
gave an involuntary gasp. 

As it chanced the Princess, blinking through the 
brief glare, caught full his horror-stricken eyes. He 
dropped them guiltily, and his face slowly grew to a 
purple that matched the smoker’s lips. 

Her match went out. A swift gleam of deviltry 
came to the long, sleepy eyes. The dead face stirred 
a little. Boredom — ennui — was the hete noire of 


178 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


the Princess’ pampered existence. It clung to her 
like an invisible old man of the sea. Even the loos- 
ening of a leg-muscle was a boon. 

She leaned toward the young American, beckoning 
imperiously. ‘‘ Come ’ere, leetle boy,” she com- 
manded, “ you leetle pink boy wid’ beeg eyes.” 

Charlie went, walking on hot ploughshares. 

“ My light it ees not light,” she murmured, as he 
stood beside her. ‘‘ You weel geeve me one, yes.? ” 

Charlie’s knees battered together. He took up 
the match-stand nearest, but his hands trembled so 
that each broke in hand as he struck it. 

The Princess laughed softly. The old man of the 
sea slid to the floor. 

Flushed, miserable, ecstatic, the boy persisted, and 
finally ignition was achieved. 

“ Voila! ” the Princess cried. You are the nice 
boy. Now you shall smoke wid me. You do not 
smoke, no? But you mus’, ’Ere is one of my spe- 
cial own.” 

Charlie, tingling with delicious embarrassment, ac- 
cepted the cigarette. It had a crown in gold 
stamped on the paper. Now he felt not only fash- 
ionable, but wicked. This part of his letter home 
would need to be suppressed. 

From this time on the evening for Charlie was 
less a joy than a heated delirium. Every woman in 
the room, except Inez and a young American girl, 
was smoking. A great many men had come in, but 
what were men to Charlie? The American girl had 


INEZ PLAYS HOSTESS 


179 


been specially invited to entertain him in case the 
older, more sophisticated women found him a bore. 
But the most sophisticated of them all had appro- 
priated him, and, as for the boy, it would have 
taken nothing less than dynamite to remove him from 
the enchantress’ side. Already she had promised 
to teach him French, and had given him permission 
to call next afternoon for the first lesson. 

On his way home he talked incessantly, but John 
did not share his excitement. For the lover, it had 
been an evening of torment. The hated Monsieur 
Carant-Dozie had been among the guests, and, after 
his arrival Inez had not seemed to be aware of any 
other masculine presence. Carant-Dozie had imme- 
diately changed one end of the salon into a lecture 
hall, and John, being ignorant of French, was forced 
to devote himself to the young American girl who 
had been asked for Charlie. 

Within a few days, however, his resentment passed. 
Inez, on his next visit, was alone. She still avoided 
the theme of matrimony, but had agreed for him to 
write of their love to his mother. With this impor- 
tant letter on its way he was, at least for the time 
being, contented, and told himself it would be more 
generous not to attempt further pledges ; and the 
woman he loved, and who dearly loved him, — not 
because he was overbrilliant, or compelling, but just 
for the strength, and honour and cleanness of his 
soul, — set all her wonderful charm to work, that he 
might realise her gratitude. 


CHAPTER XIV 


TWIN STARS AND — THE PIT 

He came to think of them as twin stars, — these 
two shining, dominant influences of his present life. 
Scarcely could he tell which was the brighter, — Inez 
or his rapidly advancing work. Sometimes, under 
his uplifted, adoring gaze, they would appear to 
tremble, to waver, and slowly merge into a luminous 
One. 

John felt himself to be the happiest and most for- 
tunate man alive. No need of heaven, if earth could 
be like this ! 

Inez, for her part, was gradually loosening all 
other interests, focussing her brilliant intellect and 
her heart on him. Under the stimulus of such a love, 
new powers and insight came to the young man. 
The once Strange Woman had become a dear com- 
panion, John’s muse and his constant inspiration. 

But Inez was not a woman to be contented for 
any long space of time with incense and a niche. 
Her mind, a restless, eager octopus, flung out strong 
tentacles to clutch the very essence of her lover’s 
need. She began a definite study of architecture, 
reading voraciously ; and, after a little, having sup- 
plied herself with a draughting board and instru- 
180 


TWIN STARS AND — THE PIT 181' 


merits, insisted that he teach her how to draw. The 
relative positions in which their friendship started 
were thus reversed. 

John accepted his tutorship laughingly, but within 
a very few days amusement began to give way to 
wonder and delight. All that he told her was ab- 
sorbed as sand takes water. She never asked a sec- 
ond time for an explanation ; and her questions often 
staggered him with their direct precision. Drawing 
presented no difficulties at all. She seemed to have 
a childlike j oy in it, as in a new and absorbing game. 
When John marvelled, and, half-j okingly , half in 
earnest, accused her of having already been under 
skilful tutelage, she answered, with her pretty, dep- 
recating gesture, ‘‘ Not in the architecture, my Jean. 
You are the first an’ onliest master in that Art, but 
when I was quite little, I showed some talent in 
drawing. I always wished to follow it, — but ” — • 
here she gave a petulant shrug — “ my voice, — it 
was thought good, also, and the voice, being con- 
sidered a better asset in the barter and trade of 
marriage, — I was made to put all the time and 
practice upon that. But for that bad voice,” she 
added, fighting back, as he could see, the dark mem- 
ories her words had evoked, ‘‘ I might by now, — 
who can tell.? — ’ave been the great artiste, like 
Cecilia Beaux and Mary Cassatt.” 

I am sure you could be anything that you 
wanted to be,” John told her, fatuously. You are 
a better architect than I am this minute.” 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


182 

“ It is the dangerous admission for a teacher 
to make to his little pupeel,” she said to him, de- 
murely. 

“ Even though you are.? ” he teased. 

‘‘ More, — much more, — if I are.” 

The emotional passages of their intercourse, so 
to speak, were not so invariably satisfactory. The 

pernicious doctrines ” which he had set himself to 
weed from his beloved’s mind, had evidently grown 
deep. A few of the feebler came up readily enough, 
but when he laid hold of the more hated, — those 
definitely planted and nurtured by Monsieur Carant- 
Dozie, — his muscles ached in vain. 

“ You can’t believe those absurd blasphemies, 
Inez. You’ve got too much intelligence. You sim- 
ply 

“ And if it is that I canH.^* He flushed at her 
attempt to reproduce the flat American “ a ” in the 
word of denial. ‘‘ Why do you trouble, my poor 
Jean? ” 

“ But — do you? ” 

“ ’Ave teacher not just said, — I can’t? ” 

“ I want you to say it.” 

‘‘Didn’t you hear me try, — so veree ’ard? ” was 
her meek rejoinder. 

John shook himself irritably. He was striving 
not to laugh. “ You’re an eel, — a wriggling, silver 
eel ! ” he expostulated. 

Inez broke into smiles. “ It is good. Now that 
you ’ave called me a reptile, you will feel better. 


TWIN STARS AND — THE PIT 183 

yes? Now, Jean, — my Jean,” she coaxed, “lean 
once more to our lesson, and explain to me of the 
modules in this Corinthian frieze.” 

In some such disastrous wise, his attempts at re- 
generation always ended. In Inez’ presence he was 
unable to get past the foil of her flashing wit ; apart 
from her he found himself, after each encounter, less 
confident and, at the same time, more determined to 
win. 

There was no one who could help him. It was a 
struggle that must go on between himself and the 
woman he loved, alone. And yet, with an instinct 
surviving from boyhood, his troubled heart reached 
outward to the thought of his mother. If she could 
only be near! If he could feel, just once, that gen- 
tle mother-hand upon his hair! 

Of course the real substance of the controversy 
could not be disclosed. His soul revolted at the 
thought of sullying that sweet and tranquil mind 
with new-world nihilism. It was her very ignorance 
that made his greatest need of her. 

Before this she had received the letter telling of 
his engagement. He began to count time back- 
wards. Why, it was two weeks and over ! How had 
the days vanished? He smiled, knowing only too 
well. Now almost any post might bring his moth- 
er’s answer. 

It came late one afternoon. He and Charlie had 
planned to have a quiet dinner together, after which 
the boy was to leave and join his rapidly increasing 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


X84* 

‘‘ bunch.” John had, before him, the promise of a 
evening tete-a-tete with Inez, but, as he was not 
to arrive until eight there would be a long quiet 
hour in which to enjoy his letter. 

He read slowly, with deliberate retracing of many 
sentences. It was such a one as only she could have 
sent, — eager, a little tremulous at times, and always 
pathetically loving. There was not a single query, 
and no thought of self. That her boy had, at last, 
given his love, his man’s love, to a woman ; that the 
love was, in glorious measure, returned, — these 
facts enclosed for her the entire universe. She would 
love Inez. Already she loved her. She sent God’s 
blessing to both her dear children. 

More than once John lifted his eyes from the 
finely written pages, staring out in a brown study, 
and wondering whether it was not Inez’ due that he 
should place this letter in her jewelled hands. In 
spite of their recent closeness, he had never shared 
with her his mother’s letters. Until now he had not 
tried to analyse his feeling of reluctance. It was 
with a slight sense of surprise and the fear of in- 
ward disloyalty that he realised the persistence of 
this attitude. 

He sighed, and then diligently sought to find the 
reason. After some moments of heavy thought he 
could lay his hands on nothing tangible except the 
presence, in Inez’ mind, of certain doctrines of which 
he disapproved. Even these were not clear, since 
she continued to refuse discussion. 


TWIN STARS AND — THE PIT 185 

He looked again at the pages, read the last sen- 
tence aloud, and then, springing up, put it among 
the others on his desk. 

As he did so, Felice knocked upon the door. It 
was another letter, directed, also in his mother’s 
hand, and in his care, to Madame Inez de Pierrefond. 

John placed it in an inner pocket, and in a few 
moments was on his way. 

After their greeting, he led Inez near a standing 
lamp, and, without speaking, gave her the missive. 
With a closer scrutiny than he realised, he watched 
the changing, down-bent face as it read. She went 
through it twice, — the second time very slowly, 
and then, wordless as he, held it out. Her eyes were 
bright and soft. He caught a gleam, as if of rising 
tears. 

“ Dear Woman who is to be my dear son’s wife,” 
it began. “ My heart is so filled with this wonderful 
and beautiful news that I fear I shall express myself 
very badly. Perhaps it is better that I do not at- 
tempt to say very much. John has been all his life 
the best and dearest of sons. There is an old adage 
that a good son makes a good husband. It will be 
so with your John. J know you are already as 
proud of him as I am. 

“ Have you thought of a definite time for your 
marriage.? I wish that it could be soon. It may 
be selfish of me to write this, but I cannot help wish- 
ing it could take place in the little church where 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


186 

John’s father and I were married, and where our 
boy was christened. 

“ But, after all, the place does not make a great 
deal of difference. The beauty of the ceremony 
will be the same wherever it is. 

“ You love my boy. That is enough. Already 
I feel that you are my dear daughter. God bless 
both my children is the deep and heart-felt prayer of 

“ John’s Mother.” 

Raising his eyes John saw that his companion was 
at some distance. Her head was turned from him, 
and she held a handkerchief to her eyes. Inexpressi- 
bly touched by this proof of her responsive tender- 
ness, he hurried after, taking her into his arms. 
She was weeping, not violently, but with a sort of 
subdued passion. Her body yielded instantly to his 
touch. It felt heavy, chill and flaccid. 

“ Don’t cry so, my darling. Don't cry. I love' 
you for it, but it breaks my heart.” 

“ Your heart, — your good, true heart, — it is not 
yet broke, my Jean,” she sobbed, ‘‘ and now it is me 
that mus’ break it.” 

“ Why, — Inez — ” he began to stammer. 

“ I knew it mus’ come soon. I knew,” she went 
on more wildly. And this dear letter of your 
mother’s, — it has made it come.” 

“ I don’t know what you mean, darling. Try to 
be a little quieter. Surely no more loving letter was 
ever written.” 


TWIN STARS AND — THE PIT 187 


Yes, — that it is. So loving, — an’ I will break 
her heart wid yours.” 

You are hysterical,” said John more sternly. 
“ I insist that you compose yourself. Come over 
here to this sofa.” 

She wrenched herself away, facing him with tear- 
wet, resolute eyes. 

‘‘No! I weel not sit. You stand there an’ you 
listen. It mus’ be spoke noWy — the all of it ! ” 

He tried again to check her, but she waved him 
back. 

“Don’t try to stop, Jean ’Emingway. I ’ave 
been the coward and the ’ippocrite now too long. 
I shut my eyes to keep my ’appiness! Now I shall 
be brave.” 

She was poised like a Valkyrie on a menaced peak. 
Now at last, he realised, she was to make full decla- 
ration of the doctrines which threatened their united 
lives. He saw that she must not be opposed. 

“ I am listening,” he said, curtly. 

“ It is of marriage ! ” she began, more calmly. 
“ Always you speak to me in old conventions, — de 
marriage, de ceremony, — de church! Now, your 
mother, too, she thinks first and speaks first of dese 
things.” 

Here she gave an outflung gesture toward the let- 
ter, still in his hands. 

“ Me, I do not longer believe in church. My life 
’as keeled in me all such superstition. I do not be- 
lieve in marriage. I weel ’ave none of it. No, do 


188 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


not speak ! ” she cried, her voice rising to a sort of 
wail, ‘‘ an’ do not stare at me so wid fire eyes an’ 
dat white, hard face. I weel not ’ave bonds of mar- 
riage, either by church or state. I ’ave ’ad it once, 

— yes, God 1 — I ’ave ’ad it. I will not again mate 
wid man who mus’ be tied. I love you. That much 
you cannot doubt, I love you! I weel be your 
mate, your ’elp, your comrade, your faithful love. 
At any time you want me, I weel be all dese things, 

— but nevaire again, — nevaire , — do you onder- 
stan’, weel I put on for you or any other man, the 
manacles of accursed, wicked marriage 1 ” 

A silence as of death and, for John, with death’s 
hollow blackness, rose in the long, cool rooms. For 
a few moments, Inez’ deep, stifled breathing could 
be heard, then it, too, was still. 

John’s eyes were on the floor. He was ashamed 
more for her than for himself. The consciousness 
of all that he had lost was to come later. Now his 
one impulse was to escape, to put a universe between 
him and the flaming, evil spirit that had lured and 
degraded him. 

He moved one hand mechanically. Something 
rustled. He stared down to see his mother’s letter 
crumpled into a sharp-edged mass. He smoothed 
it out with a distorted grimace meant for a smile. 
As he put it gently back into his pocket, Inez gave 
the cry of a stricken animal and hid her face. 

Without a look at her, John turned away. A 


TWIN STARS AND — THE PIT 189 


woman’s voice, — a hungry beggar’s voice, — crept 
after him, — “ I shall be here if ever — ” 

It broke off in a sob. John stalked toward the 
stairs. 

Again, as if from an under world of torment, it 
was lifted, — ‘‘ Pairehaps, — Jean — if you love 
enough — if you would try to make me see things 
in your way — ” 

John did not return to his rooms. All night, 
storm-driven, devil-lashed, he walked the streets. 
Instead of an upheld glory, he seemed now to bend 
above a pit, fathomless in despair, and blurred with 
the ashes of all happiness. 

When daylight, a wide grey mockery, began to 
show behind Mont Martre, he crept back, and — 
under a sudden impulse — started the packing of 
his things. It was incredible that he should stay on 
in Paris. There was but one place for him now, 
and that was home. To be near the sweet, clean 
presence of his mother, to see her smile, to listen, 
once again, to the dear, deliberate voice, — it was a 
longing practically irresistible. 

In the midst of his work he paused. Charlie, in 
a few hours more, would be coming up to breakfast. 
He . could not explain himself to Charlie. That 
would be more intolerable than to remain. 

He sank into a chair, groaning aloud. Already 
he was blocked. After a long, long time he lifted his 
sunken head. There were cries from venders in the 


190 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


street and, in the room below, he could hear Charlie 
moving. As if in panic, he sprang to his feet, shut- 
ting down his trunk-lid, and hanging strewn gar- 
ments back into the big amoire. The determination 
to leave was still with him, only, he saw now, that it 
must be done in a more rational way. 

When the boy came up, exclaiming at his friend’s 
pallor, the tormented man was able to fling off sym- 
pathy with the casual statement, — “ Oh, it’s only a 
beastly headache, brought on by too constant use 
of the eyes. I didn’t sleep at all. I’ll be all right 
after a cup of the hot fluid Madame calls coffee.” 

But the fluid produced no such result. It was 
more than usually nauseating, and required positive 
heroism to swallow. Charlie’s solicitations were re- 
newed; but his companion, forcing a greenish grin 
meant to indicate physical well-being, insisted on fol- 
lowing the established routine. 

Once within the Ecole, he remained only long 
enough to be sure that Charlie had gone to work, and 
then, excusing himself on the plea of illness, went 
out again to interminable street-wanderings. 


CHAPTER XV 


CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 

For ten days he remained away from Inez. Twice 
did he recommence the packing of his trunks, and 
each time, as before, did the need of explaining the 
submersive plan to Charlie Abbey check him. What, 
after all, was it that he could say.? Any fictitious 
presentment — perhaps, could he bring himself to 
speak it, even the true one — would be regarded by 
the inexperienced boy as merely a lovers’ quarrel. 
To throw over his ambition, his career, everything, 
in fact, that he and the little mother at home had 
worked for, just because a love-affair was thwarted, 
would seem to Charlie — and justly, too — a pro- 
ceeding that deserved only contempt. 

He must endure a little longer. Perhaps, out of 
the void, some new happening would rise, giving him 
a more logical motive for escape. Meanwhile he lay, 
helpless and bound, upon the rack. Visions and 
jeering thoughts, a pack of gaunt, grey wolves, rav- 
aged him by night and by day. At times he could 
feel the sharp teeth in the very flesh of his heart* 
If only, for one hour, he could forget ! The picture 
of her bending above white lilies, — her exquisite, 
plaintive voice as she sang, — her suddenly upraised 
eyes, — her kisses ! — how they came back ! 

191 


19a 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ I will not think of her. I will not ! ” he groaned. 

Or if I must, let it be only the memory of those 
last terrible words that blighted us.” 

But even in these lurked echoes keyed to pleading. 
“ I shall be here, — if ever — ” Then she had 
paused. Afterward, as from one forsaken in a wood, 
‘‘ If you loved enough, Jean. If you loved 
enough — ” God! Was this torment not enough, 
and more? 

He could see the great, tear-lit eyes reproaching 
him. Her head moved with a wordless “ no,” — for 
she had not left this sentence unfinished. If you 
would try to make me see things in your way.” 

After the first few days in which all things had 
been blurred into a single consuming agony, it was 
this last phrase that stood out. He would wake 
from troubled dreams, repeating it. When Sunday 
came, he went to church, hoping to exorcise phan- 
toms; but her words lurked in the refrain of each 
familiar hymn. The sermon, a practical straight- 
forward discourse, chanced to be on ‘‘ Tolerance.” 

“ How else,” demanded the young minister, “ was 
the spread of truth to be accomplished? Mere prose- 
lyting was as narrow as the turning of a deaf ear. 
Each soul had its own way of growth, its own lines 
of development, and in proportion as one felt the 
righteousness of his individual belief, so should he 
use sympathy, understanding and, above all, toler- 
ance, in efforts to draw less fortunate wanderers into 
his haven of content.” 


CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 


193 


Next morning the early sparrows chirped, “ If you 
loved enough! If you would make me see things in 
your way.” But John, through muttered objurga- 
tions at their noise, said to himself that he had no 
arguments to convince an acknowledged prentice of 
Monsieur Carant-Dozie. 

The strain began to tell upon him physically. He 
could not eat. His face grew thin, and his eyes so 
dull and haggard that Charlie became alarmed. 
Much to John’s irritation, the boy gave up all 
“ sprees ” and took to keeping his friend in 
sight. 

This espionage, so kindly meant, began to under- 
mine the very foundations of the victim’s self-con- 
trol. With all the energy left to his spent mind and 
body, he tried to “ be decent.” But his frequent as- 
severations as to being ‘‘ all right,” and his almost 
pleading importunities that Charlie go back to the 
primrose path of the Latin Quarter, alike were with- 
out result. He began to look furtively into Char- 
lie’s face. The boy’s eyes, perplexed and commiser- 
ating, were invariably set upon his own. The limit 
of endurance drew closer. One morning, at break- 
fast, the tense cord snapped. 

The younger man, snubbed at every turn, had 
gradually fallen into silence. It was not, however, 
as John vaguely felt, a silence of resignation. 
There was something about it that resembled “ get- 
ting up steam.” Now the boy drew himself to- 
gether, leaning slightly forward. John gave his 


194 THE STRANGE WOMAN 

quick look and, at what he saw, flung out a hand of 
protest. 

“ Nothing doin’,” said Charlie grimly. “ It’s 
bound to arrive this shot. Old man, you’ve got to 
see a doctor.” 

‘‘ See hell! ” said John, most rudely. 

‘‘ Strikes me,” reflected Charlie sapiently, that 
you’ve been enjoying that particular experience 
for over a week. Don’t you think you’re due a 
change ” 

‘‘ I do not,” growled John. ‘‘ And even if I 
did — ” The hiatus crackled with insult. 

Got you, Steve,” sang out the other cheerfully. 

And if you did you would prefer to attend to it 
yourself. But the point is, — you donH attend. 
D’ye s’pose I’d care a damn about it, if it concerned 
you only? ” 

John looked up, fierce and startled. 

“ Well, I wouldn’t. You’re old enough to see to 
yourself. I’m thinking of somebody else — of Mrs. 
Hemingway.” 

“ Oh,” gasped John, and dropped his head. 

The other, perceiving his advantage, went on more 
quietly. 

“ In this past year, I’ve seen a lot of Mrs. Hem- 
ingway. I have always loved her, and somehow — 
lately — she has seemed to be more of a real mother 
than my own. When I was to join you here, she 
made me promise, over and over again, that I would 
tell her if you got down sick in bed. She didn’t 


CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 


195 


trust you, and she was right. Now what sort of a 
mutt d’ye s’pose I’d feel like,” he asked, reprovingly, 

if you are taken with smallpox, or typhoid, and 
I’ve done nothing to prevent ? ” 

John did not speak at once. His eyes were still 
hidden, but at the mention of his mother’s name 
something warm and sweet trembled above his heart. 

“ You’re a good kid, Charlie,” he said in a low 
voice. ‘‘ And I know that I’ve been worse than a 
sore-headed bear to live with. Something is the 
matter. It would be absurd for me to pretend 
there’s not. But — it is nothing where a doctor 
could help.” 

The boy considerately turned his eyes away. It 
hurt him to see John’s head, usually so erect, bowed 
over to the table. Gazing fixedly in the direction of 
a window he suggested, “ If it isn’t real sickness, 
John, — if it’s something on your chest, — perhaps, 
if you could manage to cough it up — you know I’m 
safe.” He paused on a note of solicitation. No 
reply followed. 

Charhe cleared his throat. It is difficult to talk 
sympathetically to a silent image, even though bent 
by grief. 

“ You see — ” stated the boy, I figure it out like 
this. I may be only a kid in your eyes, but I’m 
growin’ every day. Then we’re from the same home 
town. I love your mother. And — ” he added with 
more confidence, “ I’ve had a few little troubles of 
my own, and I tell you, it’s only human nature, but 


196 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


you’ll never manage to brace up alone. You’ve got 
to tell somebody else what’s eatin’ you. Back home, 
in Delphi,” he added, with a wisdom greater than his 
years, “ I used to tell your mother.” 

John raised his eyes, and tried to smile. The 
hunted look had already softened. 

“ You were lucky,” he said, “ to have her. But 
even if she were in your place this minute, I could 
not hurt her with the thing that is hurting me.” 

‘‘ Good Lord ! ” cried Charlie. His round eyes 
fixed themselves into a horrified stare. “ You don’t 
mean to say, — you — ” Echoes of the Latin Quar- 
ter beat about his ears. 

‘‘ Oh, it’s nothing common or disgraceful,” said 
John with a bitter laugh. “ That is,” he corrected, 
“ nothing disgraceful in the way you are now think- 
ing. Jt is only an — er — a, what the French call 
an impasse, that she couldn’t possibly understand.” 

‘‘ Now don’t you go making any mistake about 
what Mrs. Hemingway can understand,” the other 
was beginning eagerly, when John, with a scowl, 
checked him. 

“ I guess I know my own mother ! It is something 
I wouldn’t want her to understand.” 

‘‘ Then it’s about you and Madame de Pierre- 
fond,” Charlie flung out, almost before he knew the 
words were spoken. They were startling, even to 
himself. He drew a sharp breath, and wished he 
had a corner to back into. 

John had a brief, fierce struggle. His face be- 


CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 


197 


came ghastly. You’ve hit it,” he said between his 
teeth. “ I’ve been fool enough to think that Ma- 
dame de Pierrefond cared for me, — that, some day, 
she would be my wife.” At the last word his voice 
broke. 

J ohn, — old man,” said the boy earnestly, lean- 
ing forward to emphasise his statement, “ I’ve seen 
you two together. If ever a woman loved a man, 
that glorious creature loves you. Why ! ” he cried. 
‘‘When she’s talking to you even the back of her 
neck shows it ! ” 

“ Don’t! ” said John sharply. 

But Charlie had gone too far to be suppressed. 

“ All of her friends know and speak of it,” he 
hurried on, ignoring tentative interruptions. “ The 
Princess de Brieux — ” 

A burst of fury interposed. “ Her friends! ” 
raged John. “Atheists, free-thinkers, — devils, — 
all of them. They have poisoned and corrupted her 
mind so that a decent man has to shun her. I know 
the Princess is trying to make a fool of you. Maybe 
she’ll drag you into the same net. Has she ever, in 
your presence, attempted to expound her tender, 
womanly view on marriage ? ” 

“ Why, yes,” admitted Charlie. “ She says she 
doesn’t believe in it. That’s just a way of talking. 
She says she wishes she had never married the 
Prince, so that now she could shake him.” 

“ And it doesn’t fill you with disgust.? ” 

“ Well,” said Charlie, fighting down a rising grin. 


19S 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


‘‘ after all, she is married, and she doesn’t try to 
shake him. The Prince believes exactly as she does.” 

Before John could arrange a retort sufficiently 
annihilating, the other was leaning back with a long, 
shrill whistle of enlightenment. “ I see it ! Inez 
has been trying the dope on you, — and you, — in- 
stead of swallowing like a man, — bolted ! ” 

“ When you allude to Madame de Pierrefond,” 
cried John angrily, ‘‘ I’d advise you to choose your 
words more carefully.” 

His eyes flashed. A hint of colour, long absent, 
stole into his lean cheeks. 

His companion, revolving what he now realised to 
be the cause of John’s tragedy, had already bent his 
agile mind toward feats of reconciliation, and was, 
as a consequence, airily oblivious of scorn. The 
other, becoming weary of this game of darting Par- 
thian arrows into nothingness, fell to gnawing his 
grey lips. 

The matter is, you take the thing too seriously, 
old man,” Charlie delivered himself at length. 
“ That fool talk is only a pose, — a sort of intel- 
lectual fad of the moment. Don’t see it, and it isn’t 
there.” 

He spoke in a patronising, almost a fatherly way 
which, at any other time, would have afforded John 
amusement. Now in his overwrought condition it 
goaded him to frenzy. 

‘‘You — you — ass!’* he hissed, between set 
teeth. “ Do you suppose, for a moment, that I 


CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 199 

would let a mere fad come between me and a woman I 
lo — , I have loved, — as I have Inez ? ” 

“No good bluffing yourself with that past tense,” 
said Charlie tranquilly. “ It’s love, not ‘ loved.’ 
And, by way of answer to your courteous question, 
I will repeat my sentiments in the form of a conun- 
drum, ‘ When is a fad not a fad.^^ ’ ” 

John gave a look meant to excoriate. “ I should 
think that even you would have better taste than to 
joke.” 

Charlie essayed a shrug Frangaise^ It was a 
weird contortion, being more in the nature of a sup- 
pressed sneeze, than the light, pitying, bagatelle of 
grace intended by its performer. 

“ Was Moses joking when he smote the rock.^ ” 
he questioned, cryptically. 

John emitted a snort, meant for a derisive laugh. 
“ So you consider yourself Moses ! ” 

“ No,” granted his vis-a-vis, lighting a cigarette, 
“ but I consider you a pig-headed rock.” 

By this John had entered that inner zone of fury 
where calm begins. He now took out his watch, con- 
sulting it firmly. 

“ Time for little boys to go to school,” he re- 
marked. 

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” was Charlie’s 
anxious query. 

John caught his breath at the impertinence. He 
felt that in a moment more he would knock his com- 
patriot down. 


soo 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


You’d better leave, Abbey,” he said in a low, 
controlled voice. 

Charlie said nothing. He, too, had risen. For 
a moment he seemed to hesitate; then, suddenly 
flinging the cigarette toward the empty grate, he 
deliberately walked up to John. The man, 
meeting his eyes, saw there a new and unfamiliar 
Charlie. The pink and white young face no 
longer smiled; the blue eyes were dark with hurt 
anger. 

‘‘ It’s good-bye then,” he stated, without rancour. 

I tried to do my best, and I’m sorry for your sake 
as well as my own that I have made a mess of it. 
But I can’t stand everything, — not even for your 
mother. I’ll see that my things are moved this aft- 
ernoon. Good-bye.” 

John, literally paralysed by astonishment, watched 
him until he reached the door. Had the maid Felice 
sprung up, browbeating him with some new theory 
of the Fourth Dimension, he could not have been 
more dazed. 

« Charlie ! Hold on ! ” he cried. 

The boy did not seem to hear. John sped after 
him, catching him by an arm. 

I apologise. I was a beast.” 

Charlie stood still, but his face did not soften. 

“ This is absurd. You don’t want to break up a 
whole life’s friendship.” 

Young Abbey directed his eyes toward the stair- 
way. 


CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 201 

“ Damn it ! ” vociferated John. “ I apologised. 
Didn’t you hear me? ” 

“ I heard you, of course,” said Charlie, speaking 
as if against his will. You probably think me such 
a kid and a bone-head that apology takes little from 
your manly self-respect.” 

John flinched before the note of scorn. 

Look here, Hemingway,” broke out the other, 
flinging suddenly around, “ you’re begging for it and 
you’re going to get it. You think it’s all self- 
respect. You pride yourself on it, but it isn’t. It’s 
only enlarged self-consciousness and conceit. You 
used to be pretty bad at home, but you were such a 
decent chap in other ways that the other fellows 
overlooked it. Now, off to yourself, you’re nothing 
hut self-consciousness. You never get out of your 
own way. That’s the reason you haven’t made 
friends at the Ecole. They’ve told me as much. 
And now you’re backing your ears at a woman a 
thousand times too good for you because she’s had 
the spunk to tell you that she’s done a little think- 
ing for herself. 

“ I suppose it never has occurred to- you,” the boy 
went on pitilessly, “ that there are still a few ideas 
over here that haven’t crept under your American 
hat.” 

‘‘ But — but — ” John stammered, feeling as if a 
battering ram had been at work, ‘‘ you do not un- 
derstand — ” 

“ That’s what you said about your mother. 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


You’re a fool,” and having delivered himself of two 
sharp blows at once, the thunderbolt stalked away. 

This time John did not attempt to overtake him. 
If injured love can bleed, the added lacerations of 
more deeply flayed vanity produce in the victim a 
quality of torture that can be likened only to the 
rubbing of saltpetre into the new-made, quivering 
abrasions. 

Until to-day John thought that he had exhausted 
all forms of anger, resentment and despair, but, un- 
der Charlie’s vigorous use of the knout, he realised 
that there were reserves of sensibility hitherto un- 
touched. 

Even in moments of his most poignant grief at 
losing Inez, there had been, until now, the strong, 
quiet presence of Righteousness to lean on. At least 
he had thought it Righteousness. Viewed now, 
through a boy’s clear eyes it began strangely to re- 
semble a dunce, wearing a priggish countenance 
which, with reluctance, he began to recognise as his 
own. 

This last struggle, though cataclysmic, was brief. 
The saltpetre of Charlie’s frank remarks brought, in 
their wake, a sort of Spartan healing. He emerged, 
defeated but victorious. Had he ever read Mrs. Ab- 
bey’s gift of Emerson, he might well have quoted ; — 

“ Pride ruins the angels 
Their shame them restores.” 

During the afternoon he wrote to Inez, sending it 
by special messenger, to ask whether she were willing 


CHARLIE GIVES ADVICE 


to receive him. Her answering note had few words, 
“ To-night, at eight.” 

When young Abbey came home John met him 
with a straightforward look and a hand inquiringly 
extended. 

Seizing the latter, Charlie gave it a mangling grip, 
and remarked, rather hastily, upon the weather. 

‘‘ You’re all right, kid,” said the older man. 

I’m going back this evening.” 

‘‘ Good work ! ” grinned Charlie. ‘‘ And while 
you’re there I’ll celebrate with the bunch.” 


CHAPTER XVI 
CHANGES 


Inez did not, as had been her pretty custom, speed 
down the long salon to greet him. He stared down 
the length of them. Toward him came no visible 
presence but a sort of heated cloud, a wavering 
medium that beat upon his ears in muffled detona- 
tions, turning him faint. He grasped at the door- 
frame nearest and knew that, but for its timely sup- 
port, he would have fallen. 

“ Jean ! ” cried a low, frightened voice. 

He groped his way toward it. Up through the 
swirling mist a white face stared, — a face like a 
drowned white rose. He gave a single inarticulate 
cry and fell to his knees beside her chair. 

‘‘ Ahe ! Ahe ! ” he heard her sigh. You too have 
been ill, my poor Jean.” 

She leaned outward, striving to pull his head 
against her breast, but the effort proved too great. 
Instantly the weak arms relaxed and fell helpless. 

“ Inez ! Inez ! ” the man broke out in terror. 

You look like death! ” 

She tried to move her lips, to smile, but uncon- 
sciousness had closed in. 

For a moment he thought it surely death, and that 
it had come to both. 


204 


CHANGES 


^05 


The need of summoning assistance finally got him 
to his feet. He had opened his lips to call, when 
the tug of a weak hand checked him. 

‘‘ No, Jean, — do not,” she gasped. I have been 
ill, but I am better. Hold me to your heart, my 
Jean.” 

He caught her up as if she had been a child. 

“ It is nussing to frighten, — nussing at all, now 
that you are to me come back,” she murmured, dis- 
jointedly. ‘‘A leetle glass from de beeg bottle on 
the stand, — yes, — you ’ave it. I will be weU again, 
— comme fa.” 

He placed her on the divan, then gave the glass 
of cordial. A faint tinge of red showed, at once, in 
lips that were now smiling. 

“ Oh, Inez. Oh, my darling ! ” he almost sobbed. 

Why did you not tell me you were ill.? Why 
didn’t you send me word? ” 

It would ’ave not been better,” she told him. 

Now it is the real Jean come back, — my Jean, — 
my love.” 

‘‘ Your love ! ” he echoed, in bitterest self-scom. 

You mean your lackey, — your door-mat. I’m not 
fit to have you wipe your feet on. How is it that 
you were willing to take me back at all? ” 

It is the question I ’ave often ask to myself,” 
she said, a glint of the old teasing in her voice, ‘‘ I 
ask it, — yes, — and always the answer, — the same 
answer — ” 

She paused, looking deep into his eyes. 


206 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ The answer — ” he breathed, his own eyes like 
two hungry wolves in leash. 

“Always is dis, — just dis — ” she whispered, and 
drew his lips down to her own. 

It was many weeks before either dared a refer- 
ence to the issue which had so nearly parted them. 
John, as it happened, took the initiative, prefacing 
it by a recital of his verbal conflict with Charlie. 

He did not spare himself a single word. As he 
talked Inez drew one of his strong, slender, nervous 
hands — the hand of a practised draughtsman, — 
into her own, caressing it soothingly. At some par- 
ticularly uncomplimentary phrase she cried, “ Ahe, 
— it is the naughty one, — he forget himself, so to 
speak to my Jean, — my poor Jean.” 

All the while she had kept her white lids dropped. 
John, now craftily peering under them, caught the 
suspected twinkle. 

“ Oh, I knew you’d enjoy it,” he grinned. “ And 
you think I deserved it, don’t you now.? ” 

She nestled against him for answer. 

“ Well, I did,” he admitted frankly. “ And I owe 
a debt of gratitude to that same kid that it will take 
me long to repay.” 

“ Moi amsiy"' murmured Inez against his shoulder. 

He bent to kiss her. “ I understand, dear.” 

In a moment more she raised her head and bending 
forward slowly, clasped her hands about her knees. 
She often did this in thinking deeply. 

John, watching her face change gradually from 


CHANGES 


207 


its sweet love-flush to the quiet of tender brooding, 
wondered what was coming next. It was the chief 
of his many delights in her, that he never knew. 

That Sharlie,” she began softly, “ is good. 
From the first of seeing him, I felt it. Many of our 
American men are so. It is our glory. To be good 
and clean of heart — that is of one great thing I 
love you, Jean.” 

She turned to give him a long, beautiful, grateful 
look at which John, blissful and embarrassed, could 
only murmur some thick masculine denial. 

Pairhaps you ’ave not yet learned this of your 
Inez,” the speaker went on, her voice growing more 
and more like harp-strings. ‘‘ But of all things in 
the world, — of all things in all worlds, — I care most 
for that, — for only goodness.” 

“ Of course I knew it, darling,” John answered, 
huskily. 

But not de mere church goodness,” she pointed 
out, her earnestness being now too intense for the 
risking of any misconceptions, ‘‘ not merely de large 
give to sharitee of some American millionaires, — 
not orphan-asylums or ole folks’ ’omes, — which are 
of de devil, — not anything wid labels paste, or beeg 
brass drums to call attention, — but the real good- 
ness here, — deep here, — ” she freed her hand to beat 
with it, almost passionately, upon her heart. “ Hat 
small white fire, — dat crystal ball, — dat small 
bright pinch of God which, when it is there, no mis- 
take is made of it. Pairhaps you ’ave think I do 


208 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


not believe in God.” She paused, her dark eyes 
burning into his. He could see how her nostrils 
quivered. I do, — I do! ” she blazed, before he 
could speak. ‘‘ And if I seem to keep the silence it 
is because that the God I worship is too beeg for 
my Httle talk of Him.” 

John drew her back against a heart so filled with 
love that it hurt him. Don’t tell me any more, — 
you wonderful white angel! I understand you at 
last. Now you must let me speak.” 

She leaned against him, closing her eyes. He 
waited until the last excited tremor had passed, and 
then, in commonplace words, redeemed by their utter 
sincerity, he began, “ I have done a lot of thinking 
about all these things, as you already know.” 

She gave a little nod of assent and a long tremu- 
lous sigh of content. 

“ And the way I’ve figured it out is this — 

A second nod filled in the pause. 

‘‘ Now, more than ever, the one safe path for us, 
— especially for me, — since it is the only path you 
have ever taken, — is fearless truth.” 

She stirred impulsively, then forced herself back 
into quiescence. 

‘‘ I was a coward and a fool to run off at the very 
first gun.” 

‘‘No, — no,” she interrupted. “Not dose bad 
names.” She put her hand across his lips. 

“ But I was. I insist upon it,” he said, kissing the 
hand. “ I believe I’ve come to my senses now, thank 


CHANGES 


209 


Heaven, and it was due chiefly to the tongue-lashing 
Charlie gave me. You may be sure that I shall 
never make that particular sort of ass of myself 
again.” 

She gave another gasp of protest. “ Oh, my 
poor Jean! I weel not ’ave you say such awful 
names.” 

“ The worst of them are over,” he laughed, re- 
assuringly. ‘‘ Now I want to come down to prac- 
tical ways and means.” 

“ Mats, om , — but it is better,” she murmured. 

‘‘ From the flrst we have seemed to fall, partly in 
joke, but very much more in earnest, into the posi- 
tion of teacher and pupil.” 

“ Yes. You ’ave been my grand maitre du Archi- 
tecture/* she put in, smilingly. 

“ And don’t think for a minute that I intend to 
resign that proud position. But now I want you 
to start me on a new and very different course.” 

She studied his face intently. “ You mean, — in 
the new thoughts, — the opeenions I ’ave that you 
did not like? ” 

‘‘Exactly. In other words, — a course in up-to- 
date sociology.” 

She looked out straight before her. Deep 
thoughtfulness quieted the changing face. 

“ Whatever your theories, Inez,” he went on, tak- 
ing one of her hands into his, “ I want to familiarise 
myself with them. I want to read all the books on 
this particular subject that you have read.” 


210 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


She turned to him quickly. But so many are 
in the French.” 

Oh, IVe thought of that all right,” he said, with 
a groan. It is simply one more obstacle that must 
be overcome.” 

Spurred by her look of admiration he swaggered 
on, I’ll tackle it, — the written and the spoken, too, 
and when it seems about to floor me, I just stop and 
thank the Creator of all men that it doesn’t happen 
to be Chinese.” 

“ And when you ’ave mastered all the Gallic 
tongue ? ” asked Inez, now doubling up with merri- 
ment, “ will you condescend to go wid me to the lec- 
ture ? ” 

“ The lecture,” cried John, as if affronted at a 
task so far beneath his powers. ‘‘ I expect to take 
one after each meal. I’m going to reserve a front 
seat at the Sorbonne, — and most specially shall I 
be there,” he added, with a scowl of deep hostility, 
‘‘ when the lecture is to be given by your idol, Carant- 
Dozie, damn him ! ” 

Inez laid her soft cheek to his. The odour of de- 
fiance and brimstone, hanging about this last re- 
mark, made him the more dear. 

‘‘You are never to regret this, Jean, — my Jean. 
It is the splendid thing of you. For my part, I will 
ask of you questions in your thought. I will listen, 
— Oh, so ’ard. I will get under the skin of you, — 
comme fa.” Here she made slight graceful motions 
that suggested the donning of a wet bathing-garment. 


CHANGES 


211 


— ‘‘ I will take the point of view that you take, — 
if such is possible. But we will try, n'est-ce pas? 
Each will lean close to the heart of the other one, — 
to count the beating, — to love, — to onderstand. 
Shall it not be so. Beloved? ’’ 

And John, feeling that now indeed, heaven had 
no better things to offer, found ways other than 
speech, in which to answer her. 

In after years John could never, in looking back, 
recall the moment in which the thought of union 
without the ceremony of marriage, lost its horror. 
In the circles in which he and Inez moved, it was al- 
luded to as casually as the weather, or the condition 
of the crops. Familiarity is much less apt to breed 
contempt than lenience. By the end of a year, all 
arguments concerning it had ceased. When discuss- 
ing their joint future, the terms ‘‘marriage” and 
“ open comradeship ” were indiscriminately em- 
ployed. 

The one persisting thorn was the consciousness 
of his mother’s disapproval. He and Inez had 
agreed that a question so delicate, so opposed to all 
of Mrs. Hemingway’s traditions, could not be dis- 
cussed with her by letter. John would have to go 
home first, and “ talk it out.” When the dear soul 
had come to tolerate, if not to share, these new- 
world views, then they could join hands openly, be- 
fore “ God and Man,” as Inez phrased it. Deep in 
John’s heart the words ran, “Before God and my 
mother.” 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


21 ^ 

Since, however, nothing could be done until his 
course at the Ecole des Beaux Arts was finished, 
John brooded as little as possible upon the vexed 
subject, and was able consciously to enjoy his pres- 
ent life. 

In all essentials he and Inez were, even now, a 
wedded pair. Their thoughts and interests were 
held in common. Friends spoke openly and with ad- 
miration of their devoted love, and among themselves 
whispered, — with commiserating shrugs and lifted 
brows, that the completion of the perfect union was 
being delayed until John could explain and receive 
the consent of his queer little Americaine la mere ^ — 
a weird, illiterate person, it was rumoured, who^ hav- 
ing refused to come to Paris, remained, sternly wait- 
ing, in her home, an almost inaccessible ranch, some- 
where among the mountains of the Far West. 

Charlie, being necessarily cognisant of the whole 
affair, would sometimes shake his blond head and 
mutter that “ Mrs. Hemingway would never ^ stand 
for it.’ Never in this world or the next ! ” 

Once, to John, he burst out, It’s all right over 
here, — or, at least, it seems all right because every- 
body thinks so, — but, believe me, it’s going to be 
a grey horse of another colour when you get back 
to Delphi.” 

The end of John’s second year, and of Charlie’s 
first, in Paris, found the elder man busy and content 
to the nth power of happiness. Young Abbey, who, 
to use his own phrasing had ‘‘ been too busy having 


CHANGES 


£13 

a good time to fall in love,” was scarcely less ecstatic. 
He now spoke French with surprising fluency, and 
an even more surprising lack of all grammatical con- 
struction. He had friends everywhere. The Prin- 
cess de Brieux continued to delight in him, and in 
the Latin Quarter he had a client He only to be lik- 
ened to the bargain counters at the Bon Marche. 

He proclaimed frequently, and in loud, cheerful 
tones that he never wanted to go back. His pre- 
tence at painting — long since a joke — was given 
up, and the salary meant for the ‘‘ under-priced in- 
structor,” used to more joyous ends. 

At one particularly convivial banquet he an- 
nounced the change, — saying that he had come to 
the conclusion that he was not meant for the 
drudgery of painting, but preferred to study as an 
operatic star. 

The company grew uproarious in commendation, 
and insisted that he render his entire repertoire of 
American songs. Dizzy with applause and the mild 
French wine, Charlie now stated his intention of 
writing home that very night, in order to notify his 
mother of the new and brilliant determination. 

At once. This moment. Allans enfant. Hop 
to it, Caruso ! Bravo, mon brave! ” rose a medley 
of laughter-shrill, encouraging young voices. 

Charlie looked round upon them — his blue eyes 
filled at all this evidence of interest and good-will. 
Why not, indeed.^ 

Ink, pens and stationery were brought, the lat- 


214 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


ter heavily stamped in gold with the insignia and 
name of one of the Capital’s most spectacular re- 
sorts. The screed was written, not without fre- 
quent prompting from the merry crowd that hung 
over his shoulders. Being sealed, it was handed to 
the nearest grinning waiter with orders to put on 
the necessary stamps, and get it off by the next 
post. The waiter, who should have known better, 
complied. In ten days, Charlie received a cable, 
summoning him home. 


CHAPTER XVII 


JOHN GOES HOME 

During the third year Inez published a book. It 
had been undertaken in something of a j esting spirit, 
the basic material being the copious notes on Sociol- 
ogy made by herself and John in their efforts to reach 
a single point of view. 

To create fictitious characters not strikingly un- 
like themselves, to weave in a few dramatic love- 
scenes and inevitable oppositions, followed easily. 

“ Why, Jean,” Inez exclaimed one evening, ruf- 
fling the pages of the thick note-book backwards, 
‘‘ here is already a small volume of our thoughts and 
arguments. We could make the sport of adding 
imaginary persons, and voila! — it would be the 
modem novel all complete. Shall we attempt it ? ” 

She looked toward him archly. John hesitated, 
even while returning her smile. “ Doesn’t it seem to 
you just a bit personal? ” he fenced. 

She laughed outright. “Ah, my Jean. That 
crust of convention. Some of it will always cling. 
If I make the book, but do not give to it my true 
name — ” 

She paused, leaving wide space for the interroga- 
tion mark. 

John did not attempt to conceal his satisfaction. 

215 


ai6 THE STRANGE WOMAN 

‘‘ If you’re willing to use a nom de plume, — whj", 
go ahead.” 

So it happened that the small craft, painted in 
blue and gold, with the flag of the French language 
flying, ventured out upon a public sea. The pen- 
name, chosen after much debate was the modest one 
“ Jean Pierre.” This, as Inez pointed out, served 
weU to represent them both. 

To their delight and surprise the book was a suc- 
cess. In a few weeks it threatened to become a lit- 
erary sensation. The writers, — for Inez insisted 
that it was quite as much John’s book as her own, — 
felt like two mischievous children who have played a 
successful prank upon their elders. 

Soon came demands for a translation into Eng- 
lish. John began to feel less pleased. The title, 
“ New Sins for Old,” which, in the original French, 
had merely a sort of jaunty flair, appeared now, 
when printed out in good plain English, much more 
as a bully with a very large chip on his shoulder. 

London, and then New York, went wild over it. 
From these two centres westward to little Delphi is 
a far cry, yet John felt increasingly thankful that 
the author’s real name had been withheld. 

A second event, following close upon this, and even 
more far-reaching in consequences, was brought 
about through the medium of Charlie Abbey. That 
chastened and rebellious youth, still kept by his 
mother in the innocuous desuetude of Delphi, had 
found, during the past year, his sole comfort in the 


JOHN GOES HOME 


217 


pursuance of a voluminous correspondence with those 
more fortunate ones whom a kind Fate allowed to 
remain in Paris. 

Inez, who pitied him more than she let him 
know, and who was justly indignant at the tyranny 
and self-complacent ignorance of his mother, sent 
him many sparkling screeds. The boy’s apprecia- 
tion was almost touching. Generally he answered 
her within the hour. But his one important letter, 
the one destined to bring about revolutionary 
changes, was addressed to John at the Ecole. 

There was to be an enormous hospital built in the 
suburbs of Chicago. Architects from all over the 
world were invited to compete. One of the instruc- 
tors under whom John had studied while in Amer- 
ica, and who had kept in some sort of touch with 
his Parisian work, had taken the trouble to “ run 
down ” to Delphi in order to meet his ex-pupil’s 
relatives and friends, and ask them to join him in 
urging the young man to come home and bend all 
his energies toward winning the splendid prize. 
There were vague hints as to an inside pull ” and 

straight tips.” In concluding Charlie wrote : 

You’ve gone ahead over there so fast that it 
won’t hurt you to cut the last year. You say you 
won’t marry Inez until you’ve made some chink of 
your own. Here’s your chance! Think of that 
waiting angel. Gee! if it was me — But I guess 
I had better restrain this sort of talk. You are 
dead sure to get the hospital if you work hard enough 


218 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


for it. I saw Mrs. Hemingway about an hour ago. 
She made me swear not to tell you how she feels 
at the hope of getting you back a year earlier, so of 
course I can’t. Pipe the virtuous grin.” Here 
was inserted a hasty sketch of the treed “ Cheshire 
Cat.” “ By the way, I suppose I ought not to teU 
you this, either, but your mother is not looking as 
well as she should. Nearly three years of separa- 
tion from her only child is beginning to show on 
her.” 

With this Machiavellian stroke, the letter ended. 

That evening the two lovers talked until long past 
midnight; and when John finally tore himself away, 
he walked on light air. They had discussed the new 
and startling possibility from every angle. Each 
had tried to outdo the other in calm judgment, in 
dispassionate analysis of the situation, and to both 
had come the conviction that it was to John’s best 
interests to go home. 

‘‘ To go home — go home ! ” How his heart beat 
it! How his feet, speeding back along the hard 
French pavement, fell into the rhythm, “ Going 
home ! Going home ! ” 

Inez would, of course, come too. She had grown 
into the very fibre of his soul, — into his daily life. 
To leave her behind in Paris was not, by either of 
them, considered for a moment. 

The first practical step was to find some friend 
of Inez who might be soon going to America. This 
John insisted upon. When Inez smiled at his de- 


JOHN GOES HOME 


219 


mand for a chaperon, John explained, with some ve- 
hemence, that, since their final union was to lack all 
ceremony, it was doubly necessary that the prelimin- 
aries should be above reproach. 

By good fortune it chanced that the Prince and 
Princess de Brieux had been called, on business, to 
New York. The four friends took passage together, 
and a happier party has seldom crossed even that 
wide expanse of holiday-makers. 

John remained in New York but for a single day, 
forcing himself to take the midnight train to Delphi. 
The other three came to the station to see him off. 
At the moment of parting with Inez, a feeling of 
cold terror came upon him. He seized her in his 
arms, kissing her again and again. The low, horri- 
fied protests of the outraged Princess, the wide grins 
of observant negro porters, alike were powerless to 
check him. He knew that he was leaving behind 
him more than his immortal soul. But even in the 
midst of this ecstasy of grief, a pang of remorse 
shot through him. He was starting toward his 
mother, — the best, most loving, most unselfish 
mother in all the world. Through her he had gained 
everything, — even love. For three years he had 
not seen her, and now, on the point of starting, there 
was no room for anything except his agony of separ- 
ation from another woman. 

In spite of the inner conflict, he slept soundly, and 
woke next morning well into middle Pennsylvania. 
There was a chaotic instant when he could not realise 


220 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


what had happened. The noisy vibration of the 
train was that of a huge and predatory monster 
who was carrying him away from ever3d:hing he 
loved. Still, but partially awake, he released one 
of his berth blinds, and lay blinking under a brilliant 
morning sun. 

The scene without was typical of the farming dis- 
trict, — small, neat dwelling houses, great lengths of 
wire fence, windmills with flanges of corrugated iron 
and a skeleton frame of steel, — and, to each enclo- 
sure, the dominating, inevitable red barn. 

He sat up, still blinking. How clearly, — how 
terribly clearly, it all came back. For three years 
the aspect of his homeland had not been consciously 
recalled. Life in the old, new world had been too 
exigent, too brilliant for such external memories. 
What was happening to his brain.? He felt indig- 
nant at the rude power of this ignored familiarity. 
With each step in the process of dressing, the lurch 
of the train at critical moments, the waiting his turn 
in the dressing-room, for a chance at the mirror, the 
florid vulgarity of the man who was then in the act 
of shaving, the long walk, through other sleepers all 
smelling of recently awakened humanity, until the 
dining-car was achieved, the easy nod of greeting 
from the steward, followed by the drawing back of 
an allotted chair, the coffee, grape-fruit and cereal, 
followed in most cases by the ham and eggs of an 
American breakfast, — the disturbing sense of help- 
lessness before the accretions of familiarity grew. 


JOHN GOES HOME 


221 


The men in the smoking-room were already in a 
heated argument over some national issue which he 
did not understand. Their nasal voices chafed him. 
Politics, — stocks and bonds, — money, always money, 

— formed their themes. He began to realise what 
the Europeans meant when they spoke of his coun- 
trymen as a race of money-mad gamblers. Several 
of them made careless, good-humoured advances, but 
when J ohn admitted, — in a hesitating way as if he 
had begun to feel already that it was a misdemeanour, 

— that he was just from a residence of three years 
abroad, they frankly turned their backs upon him. 
After half an hour of this naive ostracism, during 
which time he had smoked more than one thoughtful 
cigarette, John rose, and adventured down the long 
swaying line of cars in search for his particular 
“ Pullman.” The porter, genial and alert, was just 
putting in the final touch of a freshly covered day 
pillow, punching it dexterously to an upright posi- 
tion in the red velvet corner. At sight of its ap- 
proaching possessor, a broad African grin was lifted, 
and a rich voice said, “ Good maw-nin’, Sir. Fine 
mawnin’. Yo’ seat’s all ready fer you. Ennything 
else I kin do, Boss.^^ ” 

John thanked him in an absent-minded fashion, 
using, unconsciously, the French term “ mercir 
The porter stared. His grin faded, and then, with 
a contemptuous expression he hurried off. John 
was in his black books also. 

As the train sped on, John felt himself being 


222 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


squeezed together like a concertina. He ^was con- 
scious of an almost physical constriction. Paris 
began escaping in a long nasal whine. This was the 
real John Hemingway, this Western person in a 
Western train. Paris, as an actuality, was still 
somewhere far behind ; but three years of it had been 
too short to stand before this one day of common- 
place verities. Even the Ecole and all it had meant 
now began to wheeze out from the ribs of the con- 
certina. 

The young man gave a low exclamation of annoy- 
ance, and drew himself upright. It was absurd, this 
yielding to a fantasy. If all else vanished there was 
Inez. Inez ! The thought blazed like a star. Here 
at last was something tangible, a necromancer’s wand 
to keep childish imaginings at bay. He closed his 
eyes to feel her, more surely, within the circle of his 
arms. He bent down, whispering to her of the 
strange, unlooked-for apparitions. He could see her 
reassuring smile, and feel the light comforting touch 
of her sensitive fingers. 

Throughout the morning he was able to keep her 
presence near, but as the sun went lower, its long red 
beams reaching toward him as if heralding the com- 
ing hour of home, — the gracious, tender image 
gradually dissolved to make place for one less beauti- 
ful, indeed, but no less dearly loved. 

The time could be computed now in moments. 
Constantly he drew out his watch, and more than 
once held it, impatiently, against his ear. It began 


JOHN GOES HOME 


22J 


to seem an incredible dispensation that he was to 
meet his mother face to face in less than an hour. 
It was impossible to read, or to sit still. 

The porter, having been placated by a large tip, 
hovered near with whisk-broom and dusting rag. 
His efforts, at first wary, to engage the silent young 
man in conversation, proved unexpectedly success- 
ful. John was thankful to talk with anybody just 
now. He asked questions about the country and the 
development of the little town, which, here and there, 
slipped past them. 

It is safe to say that no Pullman porter knows 
anything at all outside of the routine of his special 
car, but this does not restrain glib and apparently 
accurate replies. All at once John started, and al- 
most ran his forehead through a window-pane. He 
had seen, across the front of a cheap new building of 
{red brick the words ‘‘ Delphi Canning Factory.” 
« We’re here!” he ejaculated, and sprang to his 
feet. The train lurched slightly, and he fell back 
with a thud, hoping devoutly that the porter, as well 
as other occupants of the car, would ascribe his pre- 
cipitate action to the train and not, as was the fact, 
to a strange and most unmanly weakening of knee- 
joints. 

Walter Hemingway alone was at the station. 
John grasping the outstretched hands tried hard to 
see only the broad, welcoming smile, and not the gen- 
eral air of prosperous vulgarity. There was, at 
Walter’s loud-checked waistcoat, however, a pro- 


224i 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


tuberance that could not be ignored. His black hair, 
which had a way of growing in long locks slightly 
curling at the ends, was thinner, but the bold, rov- 
ing eyes and red cheeks were unchanged. Walter 
would still, among the majority, pass muster as a 
‘‘handsome man.” 

“ Needn’t waste time lookin’ round,” he now said, 
as he observed John’s swift glance into the waiting- 
room. “ None of the others came, not even Cora 
Whitman, though she wanted to.” Here he bestowed 
on John one of the lewd winks so well-remembered 
and so heartily disliked. 

“ As for Charlie Abbey,” he went on, laughing, 
“ his mother had to tie him in the bam to hold him 
off.” 

John murmured something in the nature of a ques- 
tion. 

“ Well, you see,” explained Walter in a voice 
wherein heartiness and a certain pitying condescen- 
sion were minted, “ all of us talked it over, and we 
figured out that it would be more — more — con- 
siderate to the old girl at home, if we let her get her 
hooks on you first.” 

“ Are you speaking of my mother? ” asked John 
haughtily. 

“ Sure!” 

“ She wasn’t feeling too wnwell to come ? ” the 
young man added swiftly, anxiety overcoming his in- 
dignation. 

“Not a bit of it! She’s as chipper as a tomtit 


JOHN GOES HOME 225 

on a pump handle. Only she didn’t want to meet 
you first in a public place.” 

“ Naturally,” said John, with a great sigh of re- 
lief. 

A new thought had, apparently, come to Heming- 
way. It was his turn to glance around. ‘‘ By the 
way,” he cried, “ where is the skirt? ” 

“ I beg your pardon.” 

“ Now look here, old buck! ” exclaimed the other, 
with a ferocious slap of peace and good will. 
“ None o’ them Frenchy fol-de-rol airs with Uncle 
Walter, see ! The whole town knows that you’re en- 
gaged. Her picture’s been in the Delphi Oracle, 
It was understood that you were to bring her along 
for your relatives to look over.” 

John was, for an instant, blinded with the passion 
of his rage. His clenched fist stung with the desire 
to go straight for Walter’s broad-based nose. Then 
his brain told him that he must not quarrel, — that 
it would be the worst thing possible for Inez to begin 
their campaign of reconciliation with the enmity of a 
man like Walter Hemingway. He fought in silence 
for a moment, and was able to reply, with some de- 
gree of steadiness, 

Madame de Pierrefond is to remain in New York 
for a week, with friends who crossed on the same 
steamer.” 

“ A Prince and a Princess, ain’t they ? ” ques- 
tioned Walter, eagerly. 

“Yes,” answered John. “The Prince and Prin- 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


cess de Brieux.” Under his breath he said, ‘‘ That 
snobbish ass, Charlie Abbey.” 

Well, here’s our equipage,” announced 
as he strode forward and paused beside a new and 
highly coloured buggy, tied near the curb. “No 
smelly gasoline trucks for mine! Just turn your 
lamps on that chunk of horseflesh,” he urged, giving 
a proud wave of his hand toward a very beautiful 
brown mare, who had moved her graceful head at the 
approach of her master, and now whinnied softly. 

“ Kentucky thoroughbred, gentle as a lamb, — 
three years old this spring, and faster than a prairie 
cyclone eatin’ fire.” 

“ I don’t know much about horseflesh, but she 
seems to be a beauty,” said John. 

The tone and the words were, alike, forced. All 
at once the arid phantoms of familiarity had caught 
him up anew. A black depression enveloped him as 
in a cloud. 

During the short drive home he closed his eyes 
against the tawdry architecture, and his ears to his 
companion’s loud, vulgar, slightly nasal voice. 
Would all his home people seem as remote and ut- 
terly unlovable as Walter? 

“ Here, wake up 1 ” cried the voice. “ There’s 
home, and your mother waiting on the porch.” 

John obeyed. He felt physically ill. He saw a 
shabby, two-story building of wood which needed 
painting badly. A comer gutter hung down like a 
straw from under a farmer’s hat. 


JOHN GOES HOME 


m 


In the doorway stood a little figure, grey-clad and 
very still. He peered curiously toward it. Was 
that indeed his mother.?^ He had not remembered 
that she was so small. Now she was moving, and 
toward him. He must move too. That was his 
mother. Time swept back in a scimitar flash, point- 
ing the moment when a small boy on a farm had hid 
his eyes and wept because they told him it was his 
mother. 

He advanced mechanically. 'A mist rose, blotting 
everything but the small grey shape that neared 
him. He heard a cry and saw two upraised arms. 

My son, — my son ! ” 

His head went down to hers, and, at the touch of 
her trembling lips upon his cheek, all strangeness 
broke into a single radiance, shot with rainbow hues. 

“ Mother ! ” he cried. I shall never be parted 
from you again, — never in all this world.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


READJUSTMENTS 

Social Delphi prided itself upon its savoir-faire, 
Mrs. Abbey, the unchallenged leader in all higher 
culture, had bestowed the epithet. It was noticeable 
how,, within two years, Mrs. Abbey had begun to find 
the homely English tongue inadequate. French 
terms cropped up overnight like mushrooms on a 
damp lawn. 

When Charlie had finally set sail for Paris, the 
devoted and heroic mother made, almost immediately, 
the announcement, that she intended ‘‘ polishing ” 
her sadly neglected French. Years before, in Bos- 
ton, she had been almost fluent — so she averred, — 
and had once taken part in a Moliere comedy, — 
expurgated. Now it was her plain duty as a parent 
to regain the tarnished brilliancy, and Mrs. Abbey 
never shirked duty, no matter how plain. 

The intellectual processes of this worthy dame 
were not carried on behind closed doors. Rather 
did they resemble the nature-driven activities of cer- 
tain bees, condemned to build and store within the 
narrow confines of glass boxes, for all to see. 

With somewhat less display, various other mem- 
bers of her clientele possessed themselves of French 
228 


READJUSTMENTS 


229 

text-books, and a few of the more passionately en- 
thused, of Moliere. 

In this movement, as in most others, Cora Whit- 
man, still “ unattached,” became her aide, her first 
lieutenant. At the end of six months the younger 
woman, inspired by the smiling commendation of her 
chief, inaugurated, in the big, showy Whitman home, 
a series of “Friday Afternoons Eran9aise.” On 
these occasions no language but French was allowed. 
Tea and all other refreshments were equally Gallic, 
and, had the ambitious ladies eaten things as they 
pronounced them, it is certain that there would have 
been a single gathering, and no more. 

But brains and digestive organs alike survived. 
The little club became Cora’s hobby. When John 
Hemingway came back, especially if he were really 
to bring that foreign woman he had picked up, he 
should not find Delphi unprepared. 

And now John was back: a John unaccompanied 
indeed, but a John so improved, so genial and so al- 
together glorified, that the most critical and reluctant 
of observers could not fail to realise the aura of a 
successful love. It was not a happy time for Cora. 
Her heart became a bunch of grapes, extremely 
green and sour, hung high out of reach of a fox that 
never glanced toward them. 

Meanwhile the young man’s native town, true to 
its policy of generous broad-mindedness, flung wide 
its doors of welcome, and, with splendid restraint, 
withheld even the most oblique allusions to “ prodi- 


2S0 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


gals ” and “ husks.” In the various banquets set 
before him, no veal appeared. As Aunt Clara had 
said, even a very lean calf might seem to John, under 
the circumstances, as a reminder of the fatted one 
mentioned in Scripture. Besides, John had never 
liked veal. 

Could delicacy of sentiment go further.? Delphi 
thought not. Many were the glances of self-con- 
gratulation exchanged. If, in its noble attitude 
there was a human flaw, it might have been found in 
the unconfessed, but all-too-apparent misgiving as 
to the recipient’s entire apprehension. John could 
not be said to enter with an air of grateful humility. 

Emma, of course, was hopeless. To her besot- 
ted mind all honour given to John shed lustre chiefly 
on the giver. As Walter coarsely phrased it, — 

Emma is worse begigged than ever. I honestly 
believe she thinks that boy the only cock that ever 
cracked a shell. The rest of us are simply piled up 
for his dung-heap.” 

Invitations, none the less, continued to be re- 
ceived. John, bored to death with most of them, 
strove valiantly to simulate appreciation. His 
mother had long since abjured anything in the na- 
ture of social “ dinings-out ” ; but she was eager to 
have him attend, and to question him next morning 
as to “ how it all went off.” 

Charlie Abbey, pathetically glad to have him home 
again, followed the hero like Mary’s traditional 
lamb. John was no less glad of the congenial com- 


READJUSTMENTS 


231 


panionship, and the two soon fell into the custom of 
walking home together. Once out of doors, under 
the friendly stars, they would smoke and stroll along 
contentedly for hours. Often it was in silence, an 
aromatic, pulsating silence, which each could have 
filled up with the other’s thoughts. When they 
talked, it was of Paris and of Inez. 

As Walter had crudely informed his nephew, the 
whole town was aware of the engagement and was 
‘‘ on its nut ” with curiosity and impatience to get 
a first glimpse of the fair one in the flesh. Of the 
actual personality of Madame de Pierrefond, Delphi, 
much to its chagrin and disgust, had learned practic- 
ally nothing. 

Charlie had been discreet. Little had been ‘‘ got 
out ” of that devoted ally. And it wasn’t for any 
want of pumping, — not so’s you’d notice it,” he now 
told John with a grin. ‘‘Good Lord! How the 
Old Girl and Cora went for me! Cora Whitman 
could talk a buzzsaw to sleep ! ” His sole indiscre- 
tion, if such it could be termed, was in showing Mrs. 
Abbey a photograph of Inez. 

“ It was that lovely one, bending over a vase of 
lilies. Somehow it seemed too beautiful to keep 
locked up. Mother borrowed it for a day, and 
when I had given in, she started on a regular stump- 
ing tour with it. Some old cat popped it into the 
Oracle,^’ he said ruefully. “ I don’t believe mother 
had anything to do with that. And, after all, no 
harm was done,” he added, hastily. “ It came out 


2S2 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


in the papers so blurred that it could have passed, 
just as well, for a photograph of a new statue to Lin- 
coln with slaves crouching at his feet.” 

During this interval of social lionising John was 
to experience, in full, that peculiar chastening of 
spirit which is the lot of all travellers on a first re- 
turn to a small home town. 

John had prepared himself in advance against an 
expected siege of questioning. Fearing that his in- 
dividual adventures would not provide sufficient am- 
munition, he had gone to the length of reading 
up ” on Paris life ; and had rehearsed, in private, a 
few descriptions of the more notable buildings, sup- 
plemented by pictorial post-cards. It would be tire- 
some to a degree but, as he resignedly told himself, 
he could scarcely refuse to share with less fortunate 
stay-at-homes, these crumbs of bounty. 

He was soon to be undeceived. Questions were 
asked, of course. In the case of men, it was gener- 
ally, “ And how did you like it over there among the 
frog-eaters? ” followed by some less decorous remark 
about the feminine portion of the gay community. 
The Delphi ladies restrained their queries to fash- 
ions, often concluding the brief dialogue with a co- 
quettish, ‘‘ Didn’t you used to get dreadfully home- 
sick ? ” 

No one at all showed desire to be instructed. 
Apart from his mother, no one seemed to care how he 
had lived, or what his work had been. At each of 
the more formal dinings, it is true, the hostess felt it 


READJUSTMENTS 


23S 


incumbent upon her to fling out a few hurried, casual 
allusions to their ‘‘ dinner-guest’s ” long absence 
from their midst. If the word “ Paris ” had slipped 
in, it had the effect of a small inward panic, to be 
swerved from, as Nile dogs are said to lap water run- 
ning, lest the crocodiles snatch them. No hostess 
can risk a monologue. His careful preparations be- 
gan to appear childish and absurdly vain. 

But since, under Inez’ tutelage, he had developed 
a certain amount of humour, he was soon able to re- 
gard these social manoeuvres with less vexation than 
amusement. The processes, at each table, were the 
same. 

When the initial danger was past, the hostess, 
with a relieved expression stating more clearly than 
any words, ‘‘ Now that is over, and we can talk of 
something interesting,” tossed high the light ball of 
general conversation. Toward this, all hands were 
stretched. John learned to keep his under the 
table. The others, feeling it their privilege and 
duty, rush in en masse, to entertain him. 

There were times when it seemed to the bewildered 
listener as if each of the company had been keeping 
a diary which, for his benefit, had been recently 
committed to memory. No incident of Delphi his- 
tory, from May Armstrong’s spectacular divorce to 
the obstruction, a few days before, of Mrs. Mc- 
Master’s kitchen faucet by an eel, was overlooked. 

Aunt Clara related in her monotonous, uninter- 
ruptable voice, all minutes of all church meetings 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


since the first Sunday after John’s departure. 
Mrs. Abbey, more painfully cultured and precise 
than ever, gave him a complete synopsis of the vari- 
ous Chautauquan courses she had been attending, 
while Cora, eschewing abstract themes for the con- 
crete, rallied him incessantly anent the ‘‘Fair Inez.” 
In the same breath with some overpointed question, 
she would pretend to believe the foreign fiancee a 
myth. John felt the claws under her giggling ob- 
servations, and might have become indignant but for 
the fact — a realisation which came slowly to his as- 
tonished ears — that Cora was prodigally interspers- 
ing her English sentences with what she supposed 
French. Her shrugs and archly lifted brows, in 
combination with the unique pronunciation, forced 
John into a fingernail breaking grip upon his chair, 
in order to keep himself from the disgrace of 
laughter. 

The airy persifiage chanced to be released at a 
feast to which young Abbey had not been bidden. 
John, almost gasping in his efforts after self-control, 
found food for gratitude. With that rubicund and 
mirth-distorted face across the table, social disaster 
would have been sure. 

Mrs. McMaster’s engrossing interest of the mo- 
ment was in Woman’s Suffrage. Valiantly she had 
announced herself as one of the “ Militant.” She 
wore no colours but the purple, green and gold of 
the English Sisterhood of Furies. No tones could 
have harmonised less kindly with Mrs. McMaster’s 


READJUSTMENTS 


235 


hard-bitten countenance and clay-coloured hair, but 
vanity is a small sacrifice for a heroine to make for a 
cause. 

Henry, her meek and silent husband, had been put 
into the same significant hues. His socks, neckties 
and handkerchief borders all proclaimed his vassal- 
age. Across his narrow chest, where, by rights, a 
porous plaster should have lain, flaunted a wide 
ribbon emblazoned with the words, “ Votes for 
Women.” 

The McMasters’ dinner, loudly heralded in the 
Oracle, needed only the four crouched lions of Tra- 
falgar Square to make it international. John and 
Charlie finally escaped with their lives, but each had 
the sensation of a dog who has just shed a tin can. 

In his own home which was becoming more and 
more John’s refuge and haven, the young man suf- 
fered at least one encounter with provincialism. 
Molly McGuire, more rosy and less three-legged 
than he remembered her, had flung toward him the 
single, reproachful query, ‘‘ And you didn’t be com- 
ing back after all these years, Master J ohn, widout a 
kleek at old Ireland ? ” 

J ohn hanging his head, confessed the misde- 
meanour, at which, on the instant, Molly’s one ray 
of interest was quenched. 

Even the little mother, insatiable listener that she 
was, had made, against his coming, her own special, 
tender hoard. She was passionately fond of chil- 
dren, more especially young babies. John, groan- 


236 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


ing within, but conscious that he loved his mother 
more for the infliction, found himself pinned into a 
corner, while, before him, the narrator sat, telling of 
all the recent newcomers to that special nook of 
Babjland. According to her, each had been more 
beautiful to look upon, and more marvellous as to 
mental attainments than the well-nigh perfect being 
that had just preceded it. As the little woman 
talked, her cheeks grew pink, and her brown eyes be- 
gan to glow. John had seen less excitement at a 
sparring match. 

‘‘And oh, John,” she broke out, as if the words 
could not be withheld, “ when I see those happy, beau- 
tiful young mothers, — and the little warm, pink 
bundles on their arms — ” She checked herself, — a 
hint of fright in her upraised face. 

John leaned over, kissing her hand as he had often 
kissed that of Inez. 

“ I know, — you dearest of all mothers,” he said 
unsteadily. “ I wish it just as much as you.” 

A draugh ting-board had been fitted up in John’s 
bedroom, and already he had begun work on his 
plans for the big hospital. Off here, alone, his long- 
ing for Inez grew insistent. He needed her each mo- 
ment. He would never do decent, creative work un- 
less she were beside him. There were a thousand 
questions he wanted to ask her. 

Sometimes he would glance up almost expecting to 
meet her bright, intelligent eyes. Then his words, 
half-formed, would stammer into silence, and he 


READJUSTMENTS 237 

would drop his head, aching, as with a physical pain, 
for a sight of her. 

They wrote each other daily, and besides, made 
frequent use of that boon for all lovers, the night 
lettergram. Twice she had asked him whether he 
had yet spoken to his mother of their ‘‘ creed.” 

His first answer had been brief. “ Just now such 
a discussion is out of the question. My mother and 
I are never alone. But things will settle down 
shortly, and you can rely on my speaking at the first 
possible moment.” 

His next answer, written three days later, was 
longer and, as it seemed to the reader who bent 
troubled eyes upon it, rather evasive. 

“ Don’t bother that dear head about our theories. 
They will take care of themselves. The main thing 
now is that I can’t live many hours longer without 
you. I have made some sort of a beginning on the 
hospital plans, but feel perfectly flat and helpless 
without your inspiration. Can’t you possibly make 
arrangements to start west a day earlier? Mother 
is almost as impatient as I am. Your room is ready, 
even to the flowers. I can hardly wait for you and 
mother to meet and know each other. She is the 
dearest little trump. Everything will come right 
just as soon as we can make her realise how serious 
we are in our new beliefs.” 

Inez’ reply to this was by wire. Am too deep in 
engagements to come earlier than planned. You are 
doing all of us injustice by not making some tenta- 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


tive effort to prepare the soil for seeds that must be 
implanted. Inez.” 

After this there were, from her, no further letters. 
On the following Tuesday morning, John and the 
faithful Charlie were at the little Delphi station, try- 
ing to hide, each from the other, an almost paralys- 
ing condition of excitement as the train drew near. 


CHAPTER XIX 


INEZ IN DELPHI 

Had Jolm been an ordinary woman, instead of 
what he was, a somewhat extraordinary young man, 
clean of heart, right-thinking by instinct, still 
troubled, occasionally by qualms concerning his im- 
mortal soul, but clarified throughout, as it were, and 
at the same time deepened by the two best gifts of 
life: love, and a profession which enthralled him, — 
had he been, I say, instead of a composite of these 
factors a mere ordinary woman of ordinary social 
existence, he must have seen an underlying reason 
in the unusual haste with which the home-coming 
functions of welcome had been crowded into the first 
short week of his return. 

But John had neither time nor inclination for such 
conjecture. He accepted the kindnesses, each with 
cheerful good faith. The boredom that, indubitably, 
he suffered, was, to his broadened mind, a sort of in- 
ner equivalent. Through each hospitable door he 
went, striving his best to be genial, concessive, and, if 
not to feel, at least to simulate, interest in the cloud- 
bursts of local manna, turned loose for his benefit. 
At times he would catch himself smiling to wonder 
what Inez was going to think of it all. A second 
239 


^40 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


round of these semi-family gaieties would, of course 
be instantly inaugurated for her benefit. 

So John thought, but his mother, in her quiet 
domestic corner of the home living-room, knew bet- 
ter, She was one of those creatures, all too rare, 
who say little and see much. The meaning of all 
this unusual haste had been, from the first, quite 
clear to her. The women of Delphi were not going 
to accept a strange woman in their midst, until she 
had been, to use the local term ‘‘ sized up.” 

For more than fifty years Emma Hemingway had 
been part of little Delphi, a living fibre of its intri- 
cate, commonplace social growth. It is only fair 
to assert that, had she possessed on the instant, an 
aerial dictograph to follow the words of a dialogue 
then in progress between Mrs. Abbey and her satel- 
lite, Cora Whitman, Mrs. Hemingway would not 
have been surprised. 

John and Charlie Abbey had left, some fifteen 
minutes earlier, for the train. The short interval 
in which the little mother was to wait, seemed to her 
more crowded with emotion and excitement than any- 
thing she had ever experienced. Of course the whole 
town was aware of the particular moment in which 
John’s fiancee was to arrive. Ten o’clock was an 
early hour for housekeepers to be abroad, but on 
this particular day there was, by strange chance, 
a veritable epidemic of shoppers. The little station 
was not in either of the two retail districts of the 
town, one “ across the river,” the other and smaller 


INEZ IN DELPHI 


Ul 


being on the more strictly residence side to the south, 
but lay about midway between the two, and quite a 
noticeable detour to the west. All the dry-goods 
stores, bakeries, retail groceries, markets and drug 
stores of Delphi could easily have been purchased 
and removed, without necessitating so much as a 
glimpse of the station at the end of High Street, just 
beyond “ New Bridge,” and yet pedestrians as well 
as those in motor-cars, found excuses for invading 
unfrequented thoroughfares. The little basket 
pony-phaeton of Mrs. Abbey was especially alert. 
Never had the small horse turned so many corners. 
The mistress, who was driving, sat up with her ac- 
customed rigidity, an attitude which she felt due 
her position as social leader.” Beside her, more 
relaxed, her eyes keen and shrewd with excitement, 
sat Cora. 

‘‘ There go John and Charlie cried the lat- 

ter. ‘‘ Turn into that little side-street, quick, 
please. I don’t want J ohn to think — ” She broke 
off in a nervous, affected giggle. 

I see no reason why the streets of Delphi should 
be forbidden us,” said Mrs. Abbey icily, ‘‘just be- 
cause an unknown woman is to arrive.” Neverthe- 
less she pulled the left rein sharply. 

Once within the secluded street there occurred a 
remarkable exhibition of psychic power, — that of 
the human over the brute mind. Neither of the 
ladies had spoken since the vehicle was turned, and 
yet the pony, having wheeled, came to a determined 


24<2 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


and most intelligent pause, his nose toward the sta- 
tion, his two ears, tilted slightly backward, each 
pointing directly into an eager, concentrated face. 
Just at the moment, the train whistled. Mrs. Abbey 
dropped pretence with the reins. 

Cora, by this time, could scarcely breathe. She 
sat forward on the extreme edge of the seat, so pre- 
cariously near, in fact, that only a wiry grasp of 
two gloved hands restrained her from slipping to the 
floor. 

“It’s stopped!^* she panted. “John did not 
even wait long enough to engage a hack. I wonder 
whether he is going to walk her home.” 

Mrs. Abbey did not see fit to echo the wonder. 
Her lips were tight, her eyes like small green burn- 
ing-glasses. 

The train, whose terminal coaches alone could be 
seen by the two spectators, shuddered and grated 
to a halt. 

“We are to be congratulated,” Mrs. Abbey 
stated crisply, “ that all of Emma Hemingway’s 
friends have shown John a welcome. It was due 
both John and her. But when it comes to throwing 
wide one’s door to an unknown person like this 
Madame de Pierrefond — ” ^she paused, emphasising 
silence. 

“ It seems a little queer that she is so unknown,” 
mused Cora. “ I have written to everybody who’s 
been to Paris, and might have heard of her. Last 
week I wrote again to Bessie Pierie, who was study- 


INEZ IN DELPHI 


243 


ing over there and is back in Chicago. I even en- 
closed a stamp, and told her that it was very impor- 
tant for us to hear something.” 

Mrs. Abbey lifted enquiring eyebrows. 

‘‘ No,” responded Cora to the eyebrows. “ No 
answer yet. It’s funny how everybody avoids men- 
tioning her. What seems to me queerest of all,” she 
went on, her frown deepening, “ is that you’ve been 
able to get so little out of Charlie.” 

I am not the sort of mother who condescends 
to force confidences from her son,” said Mrs. Abbey, 
“ but I must admit that the unusual reticence he has 
displayed is far from reassuring.” 

“ How beautifully you always word things, dear 
Mrs. Abbey,” exclaimed Cora. “ I wonder if I’ll 
ever have a vocabulary like yours.” 

“ It takes time, my dear, and much thoughtful 
reading,” condescended the small great lady. 

Then, too, you must remember that I had great 
advantages in my youth. I was bom and bred in 
Boston.” 

Cora sighed, presumably with envy. Her light- 
coloured eyes, set rather close above a thin-bridged 
nose, had never left the station platform. Now she 
gave a convulsive start. “ They are coming out ! 
Charlie’s got one of her arms, and John the other. 
My, I did not think she’d be so tall and skinny. 
That’s her all in grey. Her veil’s down.” 

“ She’s lifting it,” said Mrs. Abbey, and then 
added maliciously, ‘‘she’s lifting it to kiss John.” 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


‘‘ How disgusting! I didn’t think that pieople 
from abroad — Heavens, she’s kissing Charlie 
too ! ” 

“ Impossible I ” gasped Mrs. Abbey. She would 
not dare ! ” 

“ But she has! ” It was Cora’s turn for a mali- 
cious chuckle. “ And there are two negro porters 
loaded with hand-baggage. They are piling them 
into an express wagon. Yes, they are going to 
walk home, — all three of them. Heavens ! Suppose 
they should come this way ! ” 

“ I regret that we demeaned ourselves by paus- 
ing,” said Mrs. Abbey, with genuine sincerity. “ But 
now that we are here our only course is to remain 
still.” 

‘‘ Yes ! ” acquiesced the other, in a voice that 
trembled with excitement. ‘‘ They won’t see us any- 
way. They are going straight up High Street.” 

Their fears allayed, the two women gave them- 
selves up to scrutiny. “ If that travelling gown is 
the latest French mode,” remarked the elder, ‘‘ then 
all I have to say is that the French are more inde- 
cent than they were when I was last abroad.” 

Cora’s eyes fairly clawed the graceful, retreating 
figure. “ She hasn’t a petticoat to her najne! I 
wonder where her corsets stop. You can see every 
inch of her le — ” 

“ My dear! ” 

“ Of her limbs, — to her waist. Poor John I ” 

“ Poor Tnother, you had better say,” reproved 


INEZ IN DELPHI 


245 


Mrs. Abbey. ‘‘It is always we mothers who suf- 
fer.’^ She shuddered, recalling the recent kiss be- 
stowed on Charles. 

Meanwhile the three friends, swinging along as 
so many times they had tramped the streets of 
Paris, oblivious of shoulder-stabbing looks and hos- 
tile criticism, laughed and talked all at once, like 
three ecstatic school children let out on an unex- 
pected holiday. 

“ Yes, it’s Delphi at last,” John was saying. 
“Rather dreadful, isn’t it.?^” He nodded sideways 
toward the line of cheap, new buildings they were 
passing. 

“ Non! It is not dreadful,” said Inez, indig- 
nantly. “No place could be dreadful that is the 
’ome of my Jean.” 

“ Wish somebody’d say that about the ’ome of 
her Charlie,” exclaimed that youth. 

“ Ah, my poor Sharlie ! Nevaire you min’ ! It 
will ’appen some day soon,” comforted Inez, giving 
him a friendly little pat upon the shoulder. 

This innocent gesture having been observed from 
upper story windows by six typewriter girls, three 
clerks and two bosses, and, from the pavement by 
a sauntering contingent of as many more, became 
instantly the sensation of the day. Within an hour 
the whole town had heard of the shameless way in 
which John Hemingway’s Paris “ girl ” had first 
kissed Charlie Abbey at the station, and then, while 
walking along a public thoroughfare had suddenly 


^46 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


flung herself into his arms. By noon, there were 
graphic accounts, all from eye-witnesses, of a terrific 
combat between the rival lovers. Rumour varied 
only in which combatant was supposed to be the vic- 
tor. Each was known to have lost at least two 
front teeth, gaining, at the same time, a black eye. 

The appearance, later on, of the two belligerents, 
obviously unscathed, walking amicably together 
along Main Street, did little to erase the lurid 
images provoked by such unusual and pleasing gos- 
sip. 

By this time the three friends had reached the 
corner of Maple Avenue, a wide tree-shaded street, 
upon which the older and most firmly established 
aristocracy of the town had, for the most part, its 
dwellings. 

‘‘ So that,’^ said Inez, pausing at John’s touch, 
‘‘is the ’ome, — the life-time ’ome of you, my Jean. 
Ah, it is quaint. There were no Mansard roofs, or 
small turned pillars in the South which my child- 
hood knew, only white gables, and long, long ‘ gal- 
leries ’ with columns heaped in rose-vines. I have 
never seen houses just like these. But — ” she has- 
tened to add, as if fearing that she had been too 
critical, “ I shall love the one of yours, Jean, just 
as I shall love Delphi and the little mother, — just 
because they are yours.” 

“ There’s the little mother now, — coming out of 
the door,” said Charlie. “ Time for me to beat it ! ” 

He turned, hurrying back along High Street. 


INEZ IN DELPHI 


247 


Inez flashed one look at Jean, to show her cognisance 
of the boy’s delicacy, and then breathlessly said, 
“ Stop here, Jean. Not one step more. I wish 
alone to go to la mere.’’ 

John nodded. He could not speak. His heart 
followed the swift-flying grey figure. He saw the 
little mother in the doorway shrink, give a startled 
look as if for him, and then, like the thoroughbred 
she was, advance toward the gate. 

The two met there. For an instant a mist blotted 
the watcher’s vision. He dashed something bright 
and warm from his eyes and then, to his relief and 
satisfaction saw that Inez, instead of attempting a 
melodramatic embrace, had merely taken the trem- 
bling, outstretched hands in both her own. During 
the first whispered sentences she held them close 
against her breast. Then she loosed them, falling 
back a little, and making the little beckoning move- 
ment of the chin he knew so well. 

Charlie, far down the street, could not restrain a 
single backward look. The three figures were mov- 
ing along the cemented path toward the house. Both 
women were gowned in grey, and John had an arm 
about each. Just before they entered, the man 
stooped his head to kiss, first the mother, and then 
the woman whom he wished to make his wife. 

The boy broke suddenly into a rag-time tune. 
His young heart was sweet and buoyant with what 
he had seen. 

If shopping had been a forenoon occupation in 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Delphi, visits to Emma Hemingway obsessed the 
afternoon. Clara came in to borrow sugar. Mrs. 
McMaster had more vegetables to deliver. There 
was scarcely a neighbour, with the single exception 
of Mrs. Abbey, who did not manage to find some 
pretext for “ dropping in.” 

None of them saw Madame de Pierrefond. ‘‘ Inez 
is tired after her long trip,” Mrs. Hemingway ex- 
plained to each inquirer. “ She is in her room, and 
John wishes her not to be disturbed.” 

May Armstrong was not to be so easily put off. 
^‘Huh! Where’s John?*' she demanded, in loud 
tones which carried to all parts of the big wooden 
house. 

Inez, stretched luxuriously upon a couch upstairs, 
with John very, very close beside, lifted a sparkling 
face, and pushed John back that they might listen. 

Mrs. Hemingway’s answer was a mere propitia- 
tory murmur. There was a moment of silence from 
May, then, rather meaningly, “ Oh ! In that case, 
I had better not keep you from joining them.” 

“First rendition of the Delphi theme,” groaned 
John. “ Just wait until Aunt Clara finds out that 
I am in your room unchaperoned.” 

Inez sat upright, pushing back the long shining 
strands of hair. 

“ Do you really mean,” she asked incredulously, 
“ that here in your mother’s home, and we openly, 
what you insist upon calling ‘ engaged ’ ” — at the 
word she gave a little gesture of repudiation — “ that 


INEZ IN DELPHI 249 

we would be criticised for being up here to- 
gether? ” 

‘‘Would we? You just wait. You’ve got a lot 
to learn about Delphi.” 

“ If it all is of this cheap flavour,” remarked Inez, 
“ I do not face the prospect with rapture.” 

John looked hurt. “You know I warned you, 
darling,” he began, but she checked him. 

“ I do not believe you have ever mentioned our 
beliefs to your mother.” 

The young man’s eyes fell. 

Inez gazed at him for a long moment, then leaned 
back, her own lids drooping. “ Ah,” she mur- 
mured, speaking as much to herself as to him, “ it 
is always so. You men will slay each other in the 
field, — you fight for finance and for commerce, but 
women must battle for the moral issues. Yes, it is 
we who fight the battles of the soul.” 

The young man kept silence for an interval, then 
rallying his forces, he took her in his arms. “ Now 
look here, Inez. I’m not the shirk your words seem 
to imply. I am going to stand by you and your 
principles to the end, — no matter at what personal 
sacrifice, but when it comes to breaking a thing like 
this to such a woman as my mother — ” 

In his instinctive pause, she freed herself, leaning 
backward with one hand on his breast. Her eyes 
sought his almost fiercely. This time he did not 
flinch. 

“ I have tried to speak to her, more than once ; 


250 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


but so far I have simply been unable to find words 
that can make her understand.” 

She is not stupid, — your mother,” put in Inez 
quickly. 

“ It isn’t so much a question of stupidity as of 
utter readjustment,” said John, frowning. 

‘‘ You know it must be said some time. It is the 
condition of our union.” 

“ Yes, I know. And I do not wish you to think 
that coming back to Delphi has changed me.” 

The ghost of a smile quivered across the woman’s 
tightly drawn lips. 

‘‘ What, then, shall I think, my Jean? ” 

“ The hardest of all things to you, dear, — think 
nothing.” 

At this her eyes flew open. 

‘‘ I mean by that,” he explained, in some embar- 
rassment, that I want us to have, say, a week here 
together, as ordinary engaged people. Oh, I know 
you hate that term, but Delphi knows no other. I 
want my mother to have at least one week of happi- 
ness in our love. Already you have charmed her, 
as you charm every one. When she sees for herself 
how fine you are, how sincere, how deeply moral — ” 

‘^Jean! Jean!” gasped Inez, pretending to 
faint. 

“ Well, you are. It’s the thing about you that 
I love most. Say you will grant me this, my dear- 
est. One week. It is not much. We kept the faith 
for years in Paris.” 


INEZ IN DELPHI 


251 


You say well, ‘ we kept the faith.’ There we 
were under no false pretences. Here in Delphi you 
deliberately ask of me to be the ’ippocrite.” 

To this John said nothing. The troubled look 
on his face deepened. 

Don’t you see, dear,” began Inez softly, leaning 
nearer, that already you are asking me to violate 
my own sincerity. If my truth is what most you 
love, how can you wish to desecrate it.^ ” 

The young man drew a long, hopeless sigh. ‘‘ I 
can see, of course, that it might appear that way to 
you. I haven’t your gift of expression, — but, in 
my soul, Inez, with the memory of all the beautiful 
hours we have spent together, and the hope of a more 
beautiful life to come, I feel that I am not asking 
you to do wrong.” 

Suddenly she put up her arms like a child. He 
drew her to him, kissing her again and again. Then 
he pressed her head against his heart, and waited. 
Each knew of the battle that the other fought. At 
last she said, “ I yield. For one week, I shall be a 
’ippocrite.” 

With a low cry of joy he snatched her closer, but 
now she slipped away. 

‘‘ You will go now, please. I am more weary than 
I thought. Yes, I have come a long, long journey.” 


CHAPTER XX 


THE DELPHI THEME — IN VARIATIONS 

By tea-time — among the conservative in Delphi 
the six o’clock meal is still called “ tea ” — Inez ven- 
tured to appear. The afternoon had been spent 
alone in her room. In response to Molly McGuire’s 
solicitous inquiries at the door-panel, she had de- 
clared herself still resting, but already much re- 
freshed. To Mrs. Hemingway she sent the message 
that she would be downstairs at six. 

John, forbidden the presence of the beloved, 
sought out the sympathetic Charlie and went for a 
walk. The little mistress of the house, between her 
tide of visitors and the preparations for supper, had 
little thought for other things. 

Inez, in spite of her mouse-like quiet, — Mrs. Hem- 
ingway had found herself listening more than once 
for the sound of stirring overhead, — had done no 
“ resting.” The first day in a new environment 
is always trying. She had censured John’s light 
disparagement of his native town, but her challenge 
had been quite as much against her own impressions. 
She had come determined to make the best of things. 
She had hoped sincerely to like the little town, to 
find friendship among John’s friends, and, above 
all, to love the little mother whom he held so dear. 

252 


THE DELPHI THEME 


25S 


Though an American by birth, Inez knew less of 
America than of any other civilised land. Her 
training from childhood had been that of aristo- 
cratic Europe. The great “West” had, until she 
had met and loved John Hemingway, been to her a 
region more remote and less interesting than Pata- 
gonia. 

Now she was in the heart of it; and, through her 
union with the man she loved would always be, in 
some sense, part of it. A faint shudder ran along 
her nerves. She shut her eyes that she might not 
see the commonplace furniture that looked at once 
shabby and new. All of the houses had had in her 
eyes that same look of shabby newness. There was 
no softness anywhere, no mellowing by time. The 
people on the streets had been dressed with some 
regard to recent modes, but their clothes, too, were 
shabby. In the year of absence Charlie had, to the 
outward eye, at least, changed and cheapened. His 
necktie was too pronounced for the best taste, and 
he wore yellow shoes of that unpleasant American 
variety with bulging toes, tipped with a horn like 
that of a young rhinoceros. Would John, too, 
change Was he already changing? 

Inez lay back at this, her sick eyes closing. The 
words she had spoken a few hours earlier came back 
in a hollow knell. “I have travelled far.” There 
was a subtle difference in John. Delays and com- 
promises were peculiarly distasteful to Inez, and yet, 
on the first day of arrival John had forced a con- 


254 } 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


cession. For a week they must play the parts of 
conventional lovers, branded with the large, forbid- 
ding sign, ‘‘Engaged.” And at the end of that 
week.f^ 

She did not dare think further. Now, all alert 
with restlessness, she got to her feet and began a 
hasty unpacking. Her French maid had, at John’s 
suggestion, been left in New York. “ There’s very 
little dressing done in Delphi anyway,” he had told 
her, “ and I honestly believe that mother couldn’t 
stand for Paulette. You see, nobody speaks French 
out here. Molly McGuire would certainly wreak 
bodily harm upon her.” 

At the time it had seemed a simple luxury to 
forego. The convenience of her drawing-room on 
the Pullman had made the unusual self-dependence 
easy ; but here in the big, uninviting room, set about 
with trunks and hat-boxes, she felt as bewildered as 
if faced with an intricate piece of machinery. She 
had no idea in which of the boxes certain things be- 
longed. All had heavy straps, and the physical ef- 
fort needed to unloose them, did not increase her 
equanimity. 

She threw a mass of scented, tissued stuff upon 
the bed, then looked about for closets. There was 
but one. No clothes hangers were visible; only a 
row of rusty hooks that had evidently been in place 
since John’s infancy. When she attempted to open 
the bureau drawers, the corner of one stuck, leaving 
a long triangle of emptiness. With an exclamation 


THE DELPHI THEME 


255 


of annoyance she finally gave up the attempt to re- 
adjust it, and leaned to the lower drawer. A handle 
of this came off, nearly throwing her backward to 
the floor. 

Mrs. Hemingway, downstairs, heard the slight 
stumble, and paused, half untying her gingham 
apron strings. Just in time she recalled John’s 
parting injunction: “Above all things. Mother, 
don’t go near Inez’ room unless she sends for you. 
You’ll learn her ways in time, but just at first I’ll 
have to coach you. She’s not an ordinary woman.” 
The sweet old face remained, for a moment, immo- 
bile in a troubled frown. Then she sighed, and 
drew the apron strings together. Of course John 
knew best, but — she couldn’t help wishing, just a 
little, that he had brought home a woman whom she 
did not have to learn about. 

Exactly at six John, having had Inez’ message re- 
peated downstairs, knocked on her door. He was 
the least thing uncertain as to what would be her 
mood. He did not underrate the sacrifice to prin- 
ciple that she had made for him. With relief, as 
well as pleasure, he heard her light feet moving in- 
stantly toward him. She flung the panel wide, and 
stood still, smiling. John gave a gasp. “ Good 
heavens, Inez ! I should have warned you.” Then 
at her startled expression he laughed, saying, 
“ Never mind. It’s all right.” 

“But what was it that at the first you thought 
not right, my Jean.^ 


256 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Your gown. Women here don’t dress like that 
even for dinner, and this is only a tea. You’ll 
knock mother olf her feet.” 

“ Shall I change into street clothes ? ” 

‘‘ Change ! Let me catch you at it ! ” he cried 
with such fervour that her smile returned. “ You’re 
the loveliest thing on earth in that particular frock. 
You know it is my favourite. You make me think 
of a clear brook full of half-drowned roses.” 

‘‘Yes, it is pretty,” she admitted, looking down 
with frank delight at the exquisite folds. “ The way 
the pale flowers in the chiffon seem to disappear and 
then float back to the surface — But your thought 
is prettier than the dress, my Jean.” 

John, by way of acknowledgment, lifted her hand 
to his lips. He did not seem in haste to move from 
the door. 

“ Well,” she questioned brightly, “ do you en- 
tirely forget Mamere and — tea? ” 

“ N-n-o,” said John. Then with obvious effort, 
“Look here, Inez. If you really don’t mind my 
suggesting it — I wish you’d pin that, er — open- 
ing, in front just a little higher up. Mother is ter- 
ribly old-fashioned.” 

Without a word she turned, crossed the room, and 
stood before the dresser. It was perhaps as well 
that he could not see her face. The beautiful, long 
lines of the throat, once the ecstasy of a famous 
Parisian “ creator,” were gathered in an awkward 
bunch, and thrust through with the first brooch that 


THE DELPHI THEME 


^57 


came to the impatient wearer’s hand. All grace and 
symmetry had vanished. Obliquely in the blue- 
green mirror she could see how John, his head hung 
in a boyish, shamefaced, yet obstinate manner, hov- 
ered well beyond the threshold. 

Still wordless, she recrossed, brushed by him and 
commenced the descent of the shabby stairs alone. 
The man hurried after. 

“You don’t think me a beast for asking ” he 
implored. 

“ A beast.? By no means.” 

“ A prig then, which is far worse.” 

She did not answer. Her one thought seemed to 
be the keeping just beyond his reach. 

“ I’m awfully sorry that you take it so,” he per- 
sisted, “ but you know how very important first im- 
pressions are.” 

“ Yes, I know,” she smiled icily, and there was 
something in her tone which kept him silent. 

In the lower hallway Mrs. Hemingway, inter- 
cepted upon one of her countless domestic errands 
between kitchen and dining-room, stopped short to 
cry, “You sweet thing!” Then, flushing at her 
own impulsiveness, she went on, “ I don’t wonder 
that John fell in love with you, my dear. I’d be 
ashamed of him if he hadn’t.” 

“ Well, you’ve no need to be ashamed,” answered 
John, beaming. “ I went down before the first 
glimpse.” 

“ Just step into the living-room, you two,” now 


258 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


suggested the little housewife, the consciousness of 
her duties suddenly returned. Tea will be ready 
the minute the buttermilk biscuits get brown.” 

‘‘Buttermilk biscuit! Come on, Inez. They’re 
worth waiting for.” 

Within the “ best room,” the pride of Mrs. Hem- 
ingway’s heart, Inez stood still, and began a delib- 
erate survey. John with quizzical amusement in his 
eyes, watched her changing expressions. He knew 
well that the wide earth could not have yielded a 
novelty more unexpected or complete. 

The woodwork was all in black walnut, heavy, . 
machine-turned, and arching with triumphant gloom 
above the doors. It continued around the room in 
a jutting cornice, giving a singularly top-heavy ef- 
fect, as of a jug partially filled with dark fluid and 
turned upside down, its contents mysteriously sus- 
pended. The wall paper which, like the hooks in 
the guest-room closet, had evidently been in place 
for more than quarter of a century, gave out hints 
that once it had been a sort of arrested typhoon of 
Japanese fans. A dingy plaster medallion centring 
the ceiling, expressed its raison d^Hre in a pen- 
dent chandelier of cheap bronze. Originally in- 
tended for gas, it still held aloft disused and yawning 
globes of frosted glass, while underneath hung the 
pear-shaped electric bulbs which had, so arrogantly, 
superseded it. 

Directly beneath this silent combat of the old and 
new, stood a table, oval in shape, with a marble top 


THE DELPHI THEME 


259 


and astounding rosewood convolutions meant for 
legs. These, near the floor, joined in a small round 
disc which held aloft a rosewood urn. One of the 
handles was missing. John, in his tottering infancy 
had committed the depredation. Throughout his 
boyhood it had been mended and been knocked off 
so frequently that finally his mother’s patience came 
to an end. She threw away the recalcitrant mem- 
ber, varnished the scar, and, not without a sigh, 
abandoned it to an eternity of incompleteness. 

Before the east window stood a single-legged oak 
stand, supporting a glazed jardiniere and a sword- 
fern. Up and down the sides of the window-frame 
were flower-pot brackets, separately screwed in, and 
on each a somewhat dejected growing plant; gerani- 
ums, climbing asparagus, and a “ crab-cactus,” 
which, judging from its flaccid pendency from the 
edges of its pot, had kinship with that variety of 
Crustacea known as ‘‘ soft-shelled.” 

Inez’ eyes softened at sight of the pathetic little 
indoor garden. She wondered whether John, too, 
were thinking of the exquisite conservatory in a dis- 
tant Paris home, and of its presiding elf, the tor- 
toise, which had been once their friendship’s chap- 
eron. 

But a glimpse of a large, framed lithograph over 
the mantel, representing “ Rock of Ages,” in the 
form of a young female in her night robes, clinging 
desperately to a mid-ocean cross, drove out the ten- 
derness, and left only keen amusement. 


260 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Until this moment John had never thought to 
criticise his mother’s drawing-room. It was so 
much a part of her and of a happy childhood that 
he had accepted it without aesthetic questioning. 
Now he was looking at it through the perceptions 
of another, and that other the cultured, over-fas- 
tidious soul of the woman whom he adored. As he 
had spoken on the street, of Delphi, he now mur- 
mured, “ Rather dreadful, isn’t it.? ” 

It’s quaint,” said Inez guardedly. “ Exactly 
what period of interior decoration should you say 
it belongs to ? ” 

John, assuming in his turn, the cautious, with- 
holding manner of the appraiser, looked slowly 
around. It all seemed now so tawdry, so trivial, 
even so absurd. He was ashamed of the feeling as 
it possessed him. The realisation that it was the 
measure of his personal advance in taste, could not 
rob him of the sense of treachery. In his boyhood, 
and later, too, this drawing-room had been, for him, 
a nucleus of comfort and desirability. It was al- 
most as if he were about to criticise, feature by fea- 
ture, his mother’s faded comeliness. 

“ Well,” he finally answered, with a wry smile, 
“ since you put it up to me professionally, I should 
say it might be called ‘ Early General Grant.’ ” 

Before the echoes of Inez’ laughter died, Molly 
McGuire thrust her tousled head in at the door to 
announce supper. 

Each dish upon the well-filled table was some- 


THE DELPHI THEME 


261 


thing by way of being a “ special ” for John. Mrs. 
Hemingway explained them all in turn. She had 
an endless fund of anecdotes concerning this one 
idol of her life. There were little jokes between 
mother and son, unintelligible to Inez except after 
much laughing elucidation. The gold cake with 
citron and raisins, for instance, was of a kind that 
once in childhood, John had stolen, hiding himself 
and his prize in the hay-loft, and eating with haste 
and determination to get, for once in his life, an 
overshare of this most coveted of dainties. Mrs. 
Hemingway recalled the various remedies needed to 
restore the youthful culprit, and how many months 
it had been before he could be induced to touch cake. 
In her fond eyes this hiatus was, apparently, the 
most tragic feature of the episode. 

She seemed to take it for granted that Inez would 
be as much interested as herself in the fatuous re- 
cital. John, pleased but uncomfortable, strove, for 
some time in vain, to stem the tide of anecdote. 

“ You are sure that all the neighbours have been 
in. Mother dear ? ” he suddenly demanded, in the 
midst of a detailed account of his experiences with 
whooping cough. “ I wish I could be sure that the 
three of us were to have a long, uninterrupted even- 
ing.” 

“ Yes, the three of us,” Inez put in, eagerly. 

Mrs. Hemingway turned off, with evident reluc- 
tance, the faucet of her favourite theme. ‘‘ There 
is no one else to come,” she answered with convic- 


262 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


tion. ‘‘ Every one of the friends who are intimate 
enough to drop in casually, have been here. They 
all asked for Inez, of course, but I would not let her 
be bothered. Would I, my dear.'* ” She turned a 
sweet, triumphant face to the beautiful woman be- 
side her. 

‘‘No, you wouldn’t, dear mother of my Jean,” 
said Inez, with a bright smile. “ And for it I thank 
you. Merci bien. Do you suppose they will all be 
back again to-morrow ? ” 

“ I fear they will,” said Mrs. Hemingway, in a 
deprecating tone, “ and if you coiild make up your 
mind, dear Inez — ” She broke off timidly. 

“ I shall see each one who calls to-morrow,” de- 
clared Inez, laughing. “ I shall wish to, for I long 
to meet all friends of my Jean. But to-night it is 
more sweet and real, — this little circle of our- 
selves.” 

“ You bet it is ! ” cried John, catching the hand 
nearest him and pressing it to his lips. 

“ They are the dearest friends and neighbours 
in the world,” said the old lady, “ but even I am 
glad that there are none to drop in upon us this first 
evening.” 

All at once John sat erect, turning his head a lit- 
tle toward the street. “ Oh, Lord ! ” he groaned. 
“We congratulated ourselves too soon. Or is that 
a cow coming up the front steps? ” 

Before any answer to this ungallant query could 
be made, the front door was heard to open, and de- 


THE DELPHI THEME 263 

termined steps, firmly spaced as those of a grenadier 
on parade, thumped toward them along the hall. 

“ Kate McMaster ! ” gasped Mrs. Hemingway. 
“ Why, she’s been here twice already ! ” 

Three times for luck,” quoted John in bitter 
sarcasm. 

Kate entered boldly. Her face was crimson with 
excitement, and she was attired, even to the cotton 
stockings that showed above her heavy, common- 
sense shoes, in the green, purple and gold colours of 
her Order. At a respectful distance in the rear, less 
a shadow than a suppressed whisper of his militant 
spouse, minced Henry. 

‘‘ Good evenin’, everybody,” vociferated Kate with 
loud cheer. ‘‘I was just on my way to a suffrage 
meeting down at Temperance Hall — ” 

John, by this, was on his feet. ‘‘ Inez,” he said, 
interrupting further disclosures, ‘‘ may I present 
Mrs. McMaster. Madame de Pierrefond, Mrs. 
McMaster.” 

Kate strode forward. ‘‘ Pleased to meet you, I’m 
sure.” Then to John, with an attempt at archness, 
“ What’s the matter with ‘ Cousin Kate’ ? It always 
used to be ‘Cousin Kate’ when you ran in at my 
back door for crullers.” 

“ Madame de Pierrefond, Mr. McMaster,” pursued 
John, conceding the repudiated cousinship by the 
faintest of smiles. 

Inez, hastily freeing herself from the compelling 
grasp of Kate, moved around the table toward 


264 the strange WOMAN 

Henry. Perceiving her intention, the little man took 
on a look of terror, and backed slowly off. His 
small eyes, always furtive, now literally revolved. 
Across his chest the purple diagonal with its slogan. 

Votes for Women,” pulsed like the gills of a dying 
trout. 

ICate, wheeling to him, uttered one tc’h’h ! ” of 
annoyance, then, catching up a flaccid wrist laid his 
hand in the outstretched palm of Inez. 

“ Where’s your manners, Henry ? ” she demanded. 
‘‘ Don’t you see Madame de Pierrefond is trying to 
shake hands with you? 

“You mustn’t mind Henry,” she went on con- 
fidentially to Inez. “ He means well, but he’s timid ; 
and he ain’t very strong. I have to nurse him like 
a sick cat.” 

“ Come and take this chair beside me, Henry,” said 
gentle Mrs. Hemingway. Maybe you’d like a slice 
of gold cake.” 

“ No cake for Henry,” stated Mrs. McMaster, in 
a tone that settled things. “ He’s been having in- 
testinal indigestion terribly,” she explained to the 
company at large. “ Nothing seems to give him a 
bit of relief, though he tries everything. This morn- 
ing I caught him taking my Peruny.” 

“ You said you were on your way to a suffrage 
meeting? ” put in Inez hastily. 

“ Yes,” replied Kate, eagerly. “ That’s why I 
came by. I felt sure that you were a progressive 
woman, and would want to attend it. We have a 


THE DELPHI THEME 


265 


wonderful speaker, — Mrs. Catt. It would be a dis- 
grace to the town if we didn’t get a full house for her, 
and I knew that if you promised to attend — ” She 
broke off, letting the genial glow of her smile play 
about her victim. “ Just say the word,” she coaxed. 

The meeting doesn’t begin for half an hour. I’ll 
send Henry right out to spread the news, and we’ll 
have such an attendance that people will be climb- 
ing on the roof.” 

“ I’m sorry, Cousin Kate,” said John, before Inez 
could speak, “ but Inez doesn’t happen to be a Suf- 
fragette.” 

“ John does not mean that I am widout sympa- 
thee for your cause,” Inez hurriedly amended. 
‘‘ Onlee that I do not take the active part.” 

“ And even if she did,” John declared, she is far 
too tired to-night to attend a public meeting.” 

‘‘ She didn’t look tired when I came in,” said Kate, 
suspiciously. 

‘‘ That was because of the great pleasure of see- 
ing you and Mr. McMaster,” retorted Inez, with a 
gracious little bow. 

John fought with a grin. Even Mrs. Hemingway 
put up a fragile hand to her lips. 

“ Then you’ve made your mind up not to go ? ” 

“ It is Jean who my mind has made up for me,” 
parried Inez, with a charming glance of appeal to- 
ward John’s set face. You see the look of heem! 
He is the bullee. Yess, already he do bullee me.” 

‘‘I don’t consider it a joking matter,” said Mrs. 


S66 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


McMaster, in strong reproof. You should take 
your stand for individual freedom at once. It is 
what I did. I should like to see Henry bullying 
w! ” 

“ So should I! ” cried John, with such rude fervour 
that Mrs. McMaster became an angry red. ‘‘ Come 
on, Henry,” she exclaimed, taking him by an unwill- 
ing arm. ‘‘ This is no place for you.” 

As the door, and then the front gate, banged, John 
drew a long breath. “ And that,” he said, thinking 
of the cringing Henry, “ considers itself a man.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


DELPHI DECIDES TO CALL, AND INEZ MAKES A 
FRIEND 

The suffrage meeting was, in spite of Inez’ refusal 
to attend, a large success. Its executive leader, 
Mrs. McMaster, had not been above disseminating 
the advanced report that Madame de Pier ref ond was 
an ardent “ Sister,” and would almost surely be one 
of those to sit upon the platform. 

Kate, at the right hand of the great speaker, was 
only too conscious of the many glances of baffled 
hope, but she met them stonily. When the last ad- 
dress was over, and the audience began a slow surg- 
ing toward the exit door, she carried her head like 
a defiant horse, and the steel-coloured eyes, never 
concessive, literally flashed a challenge. “ Don’t 
any of you dare to ask me why that French woman 
didn’t come.” 

Needless to state, there was none who dared. 
Having produced her effect, Kate became more gen- 
ial. To a specially favoured group upon the steps 
she stated, abruptly, “ Well, I’ve seen her ! ” 

Instantly a chorus of eager voices rose. “You 
did! Oh, Mrs. McMaster, what does she look like? 
Is she a Suffragette? What did she have on? Was 
John with her? ” 

Moving majestically along the pavement, her in- 
267 


268 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


terlocutors clinging like bees about tbeir queen, Kate 
vouchsafed replies. 

“ Ye-e-s, she’s pretty in a way,” she responded, 
having, for some reason that will be easily under- 
stood by all feminine hearts, selected that query. 

I s’pose she is what you might call pretty, — 
’specially men — ” A suppressed murmur of resent- 
ment could be heard. 

‘‘ But there’s something queer about her. She’s 
foreign.” 

She had on wonderful clothes, didn’t she.^ ” ven- 
tured a gum-chewing treble. 

“ Not to my taste,” averred Mrs. McMaster. 
“ They were all clingy, — sort o’ flip-flappy, as if 
they’d been thrown at her and caught. She trails 
’em around like wet dishcloths. I like an upstand- 
ing woman, myself.” 

So do I,” piped the treble, drawing back her 
thin shoulders. 

“ She’s got a bunch o’ hair about the same colour 
as mine,” went on the narrator, tossing her un- 
covered head. “ It’s piled up like it was done with 
a pitchfork, and there’s so much of it that I sus- 
pect — ” She paused, feasting her ears on whispered 
exclamations. 

“ They’re great on false hair over to Paris, I’ve 
heard,” at last remarked a little woman on the out- 
skirts of the throng. 

All felt that that special point had been disposed 
of neatly. 


DEPLHI DECIDES TO CALL 


269 


But, Kate,” now said Mrs. Droppers, the wife of 
a leading Presbyterian elder, I don’t care so much 
about how she looks. What I want to know is 
whether she is stuck-up, or nice and chatty. Is she 
what you’d call a homey woman? ” 

Kate sniffed. “ I’ve never seen one of them for- 
eigners yet you could call homey. And as I said, 
she’s foreign.” 

“ Yes, — but — ” parried Mrs. Droppers. I am 
certain Emma Hemingway told me she was Ameri- 
can-born.” 

“ I believe she does claim to be,” admitted Kate. 

Her folks came from somewhere down near Noo 
Ov-leens, De Pierrefond is her maiden name. When 
she was divorced from that German count, she took 
her own name back.” 

Encouraged by sounds of excited interest, not un- 
mingled with horror, Kate threw to the gathering 
the general advice : “ But if you want to know 

about her, why don’t you go and see for yourselves? 
Emma expects it, and it ain’t going to hurt anybody 
just making one call.” 

Next morning, as Kate swept her already immacu- 
late front “ porch,” she was greeted by a masculine 
‘‘ Hello ! ” from the street. 

She looked up quickly, flung her broom handle 
against the wall, put a few instantaneous touches 
to her hair, and, stepping forward, responded. 

Hello, Walter ! What on earth you doin’ walking 
down town? Mare dead? ” 


210 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


‘‘ Not on your life,” grinned Walter, “ Just 
thought I would stroll around this way for a sight 
o’ you.” 

‘‘ Blarney ! ” retorted Kate, her face a large red 
peony of joy. ‘‘ But come in, do. There ain’t a 
soul at home but me.” 

Walter, after certain furtive glances up and down 
the street, opened the gate and moved, with a lighter 
footfall than was usual with him, up the cemented 
walk. 

“ Heard you saw the fiancee last night,” was his 
first remark, as together they entered the already 
opened door. 

A few of Kate’s outer petals fdl. So thafs 
what you came by to hear, is it ” she snapped. 

“ Oh, old gal, keep your hair on,” laughed the 
man, and, reaching out, gave a jerk to one clay- 
coloured wisp. “ You don’t want to get jealous of 
this one, too.” 

I should say not! ’Specially since she’s your 
own nephew’s girl. I didn’t think any too much of 
her on that first glimpse, but it was as plain as the 
nose on your face that she’s perfectly dippy about 
John.” 

The last words were spoken acidly. 

“Let’s me out, eh?” said the man, good-hu- 
mouredly. “ Well, I’ve still got you and May.” 

Mrs. McMaster wheeled from him. The red in 
her face was no longer joy, but anger. “I’ve told 
you before, Walter Hemingway,” she cried, “ that I 


DEPLHI DECIDES TO CALL 


271 

don’t want May Armstrong’s name mentioned in this 
house. She isn’t a fit associate for a decent married 
woman. The way she follows you to Chicago every 
single time you have to go up there for business — 
Tears and indignation choked, for an instant, the 
rush of words. The man, both hands in his pockets 
and his feet well apart, watched and listened in con- 
temptuous amusement. 

“ The whole town is talking about you two,” 
Kate went on, hysterically. I’ll declare, I don’t see 
how poor Clara stands for it. Somebody ouffht to 
tell her.” 

Walter’s face hardened. His full lips took on a 
cruel sneer. “And that may be so, he said 

slowly, “ but, Kate, — under the circumstances, do 
you think you are exactly the one to go to my wife ? ” 

The woman gasped as if he had struck her. His 
meaning was unmistakable. A low cry came, she 
bent over, hiding her eyes, and, as the first loud sob 
arose, Walter, with an oath, took flight. 

During that afternoon, as Mrs. Hemingway had 
predicted, the rush of formal calls upon her pros- 
pective daughter-in-law began. How much of it was 
due to mere curiosity and how much to Kate McMas- 
ter’s encouraging statement that one visit couldn’t 
hurt anybody, the gentle old lady was never to know. 
It was, in her eyes, merely the proper and inevitable 
thing that the better class of Delphi should pay 
Madame de Pierrefond this courtesy. 

Cardcases, long since faUen into disuse, were 


272 THE STRANGE WOMAN 

brought out and freshened. Those who did not pos- 
sess engraved cards, printed out their names in neat 
script. There was much neighbourly consultation 
as to the latest and most correct way of stating the 
various nomenclatures; whether, for instance the 
elder Mrs. Nettles should use her defunct husband’s 
initials, or subscribe herself, as did certain arrogant 
New York and Chicago dames, as merely “ Mrs. 
Nettles,” leaving to her son’s wife, the use of the 
prefatory ‘‘ H. T.” 

Special agitation ensued in a household of some- 
what elderly, and all unmarried sisters. The dig- 
nified written words, “ The Misses Cranch,” had 
much, indeed, to commend them. On the other hand, 
as Miss Bessie, the youngest, pointed out, a single 
card from four perfectly good people seemed just a 
trifle stingy. They might even be suspected of hav- 
ing borrowed it. Along with the cardcases, that 
elusive pose, known as “ company manners,” was 
taken out from sundry moth-proof nooks, and given 
a preliminary airing. 

Inez, in an exquisite house gown of her favourite 
pink and grey, met each newcomer with the ease and 
grace which, in Paris, marked her as one of the most 
delightful of hostesses. She smiled at herself in 
feeling how strong and genuine was her desire to 
have this charm of hers “ make good,” as John would 
have expressed it, in this little Western town. But 
from the first she felt herself baffled. The ladies, 
singly or in pairs, stepped into Mrs. Hemingway’s 


DEPLHI DECIDES TO CALL 


27S 


best ” room like so many neat little hens, perching 
themselves warily on the edges of the stiffest chairs. 
Their conversation, a series, for the most part, of 
small staccato interrogatives, with breath-suspended 
pauses for her reply, was not unlike the spasmodic 
cackling of those estimable birds. 

It soon became evident to Inez that they, no less 
than herself, were frightfully constrained. They 
showed it by nervous twitchings, the rigid clasping 
and unclasping of the resurrected cardcases, and the 
exchange, when they thought Inez unobservant, of 
wondering and critical side-glances. Accomplished 
woman of the world that she was, Inez had never, in 
the thronged courts of Europe, known such a sense 
of helpless embarrassment. The more brilliantly she 
talked, the more aloof became her listeners. It was 
soon demonstrated that between Mrs. Hemingway’s 
friends and herself, there was not likely to be a 
single thought in common. 

In the case of all but a very few of the elder lady’s 
intimates, Inez received alone. Each day they came, 
bewildering her with monotony. There was, ap- 
parently, an endless supply of curious-eyed, common- 
place women, varying only in a slight difference of 
clothing, and of weight. The stout ones talked most 
freely of their children and their housekeeping, while 
the meagre sisterhood appeared to have a vital in- 
terest in church society and clubs. Since Inez was 
unable to meet any of these points, and they, on their 
side, were utterly indifferent to any part of the 


274 THE STRANGE WOMAN 

world east of Chicago, all conversation soon lan- 
guished. 

Inez began to look on her afternoons ” as a 
species of Inquisition. It was difficult to hide the 
chagrin and weariness from the loving eyes of John, 
yet she accomplished it, and was aided in the fond 
deception by his personal conviction of her success. 
“ Why, Inez,” he cried one afternoon, as the last 
pair of callers ” rustled down the cemented walk, 
“ you look as if you wanted to cry. Now, darling, 
you mustn’t mind being bored a little. It’s got to 
come to an end soon. But mother is so pleased. 
She reads the cards over every night. And think 
what a privilege it is to these shut-in lives, just to 
have this chance of meeting a wonderful, brilliant, 
beautiful thing like you.” 

Of them all May Armstrong alone had attempted 
to take the citadel of friendship by storm. She 
entered with a sinuous swagger meant for grace. 
Her costume was a marvellous affair of black Span- 
ish lace, through which her muscular arms and deep 
pink neck gleamed boldly. On her head was an ex- 
aggerated picture-hat, crowned like an English hearse 
with feathers. As Molly McGuire opened the door 
to her ring, she was heard to enquire, loudly, “ Well, 
Molly, how’re you and Tim getting along these 
days ? ” 

Tim was the grocer’s boy, a bashful Teuton who 
had long worshipped at Molly’s culinary shrine. 


DEPLHI DECIDES TO CALL 


275 


The girl’s answer came in a bashful murmur, to 
which May cried, “ Good work ! Keep it up ! It’s 
a lightning transformation from a best beau to a 
husband. Is Madame de Pierrefond at home ? ” 
Within the drawing-room Inez had been sitting for 
a long half-hour, before the dual, astigmatic lenses 
of Mrs. Todd, the Episcopal preacher’s wife. All 
the Delphi topics had been tried, and all found want- 
ing. The harassed cosmopolitan had just ventured, 
as a last resort, a comment on the architecture of 
the new Presbyterian church then in process of erec- 
tion. But Mrs. Todd showed no response. Whether 
it was that she did not care to discuss the edifice of 
a rival creed, or felt that architecture was too friv- 
olous a theme to be connected with any place of wor- 
ship, Inez could not determine. 

Though at any other time she would have felt only 
disgust, the loud, vulgar tones of the newcomer, 
breaking in upon a social vacuum, brought now a 
promise of release. The hope deepened, as Mrs. 
Todd, getting to her feet, said, in a hurried whisper, 
‘‘I — I — must be going.” 

May sailed into the room like a black hawk into 
a hen yard. ‘‘ How d’ye do, Mrs. Todd. Haven’t 
seen you at church lately.” 

Then, beaming at the neat thrust just given, as 
well as in anticipation of an immediate meeting with 
the much-talked-of Madame de Pierrefond, May, 
darting just before her, exclaimed, “We don’t need 


^76 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


any introduction. I am May Armstrong, — one of 
John’s oldest friends. Of course, everybody knows 
who you are.” 

“ Good-bye, Madame de Pierrefond,” quavered the 
little matron, extending a trembling hand. ‘‘ Mr. 
Todd and I should be much pleased to have you at- 
tend divine service at our church.” 

Ignoring the smiling Mrs. Armstrong, the indig- 
nant lady bore her small, stiffened spine from the 
room. 

“Now wouldn’t that rattle your slats?” inquired 
May, jovially. “ She avoids me like the plague be- 
cause I got a divorce. The ’Piscolapeans are like 
that everywhere. You have heard of my little trip 
to Reno? ” 

She paused for the reply. Her eyes, bold, free 
and utterly unembarrassed, were fixed on those of 
Inez. 

“ I’ve heard of Reno,” smiled the latter, tactfully. 

“ Well, I’ve been there. I’m completely Reno- 
vated,” vouchsafed the caller lightly, as she threw 
herself down into the nearest rocking-chair. “ You 
smoke, of course? ” 

With the tentative question she began to detach, 
from a mass of hardware that jangled at her belt, a 
small silver cigarette case with a very large, staring 
monogram “ M. A.” 

“ I’m sorry,” said Inez, “ but I have never taken 
it up. Oh, please — ” she added quickly, at the 
paused operations and crest-fallen look of her vis-a- 


DEPLHI DECIDES TO CALL m 

vis, do not stop. Nearly all of my friends abroad 
are the great smokers. I do not know quite how it 
happened that I, too, did not so become.” 

“ Well, take it from me, you’re losing out,” de- 
clared May, after her first luxurious puff. Inez 
watched her with curious, yet pleasurable interest. 
At least she was starting on something besides serv- 
ants, children, spring cleaning, and currant jam. 
There are as many ways of smoking a cigarette as 
of wearing a hat. A tilt over one ear can make 
the most rigid sailor brim indecorous. May’s mam 
ner of partaking of her small vice was something 
halfway between the brazen puffs of a chorus girl 
at a risque after-theatre supper, and the more re- 
strained usage of New-York drawing-rooms. Inez 
wisely decided that she had not been at it very long. 

All at once, behind the light haze of smoke, a grin 
of enjoyment broadened. Inez’ eyes flew open. 
She looked around over one shoulder, thinking that 
something noiseless and humorous must have entered. 

“ You needn’t rubber. There’s nothing there,” 
laughed May. ‘‘I was just trying to picture old 
lady Hemingway’s face if you had been a smoker, 
and she’d ever caught you at it.” 

Inez grew more astonished than before, If I 
did smoke, I should certainly not have attempted to 
hide it from dear Mrs. ’Emingway. Why do you 
think she would consider it so dreadful? ” 

May pitched the end of her cigarette across the 
room into the open grate, and held up both hands. 


278 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Think ! I don’t have to think. I Tcnow! There 
isn’t a sin in the commandments, this side of murder, 
that would shock her so. They’re all alike, too : — 
a drove of scratching, cackling old hens, always on 
the other side of somebody’s fence.” 

But in a case which is so entirely one’s personal 
affair — ” ventured Inez. 

May regarded her in solemn silence for a moment. 
“ Look here,” she began, ‘‘ I like you and I’m sorry 
for you.” 

At this Inez raised her brows. 

“ Yes, I am,” emphasised the other, and I’m 
going to tell you why. You’re as out of place in 
this burg as a gilded merry-go-round on a desert 
island. You’re up against it. Everybody is whis- 
pering, criticising and gossiping, — everybody, that 
is, except old Mrs. Hemingway who never says mean 
things about anybody, — not even me. They’re all 
pulling and fingering you like a bunch of ragpickers 
at a dump pile. It’s a damn shame, — that’s what 
it is ! ” 

Inez, after a short, sharp conflict with her pride, 
asked, “ Do you mind telling me just what sort of 
things they are saying.? ” 

‘‘ Why,” fenced May, looking for the first time a 
little uncomfortable, it isn’t easy, though I am do- 
ing it for your good. Mrs. Abbey and that cat, 
Cora Whitman, are at the bottom of it. You know 
Cora has been after John all her life; and, when you 
corralled him, — well, naturally she got sore. It 


DEPLHI DECIDES TO CALL 


279 


seems that she had an acquaintance who was in Paris 
studying music while you and John were there. Cora 
wrote herself stiff in the wrist, trying to get some 
scandal by mail, but it didn’t come. Now the girl’s 
back home in Chicago, and has been persuaded to 
visit May. She’s here, — came yesterday, — and al- 
ready the town is buzzing.” 

Inez was very pale. The situation was already 
intolerable. That she should condescend to listen to 
such vulgar rumours was bad enough, — but to en- 
couraging them, as now she was impelled to do, — 
she might already be a Delphinian. 

‘‘ I have nothing to conceal from Mrs. Abbey or 
from this Miss Whitman,” said she, through stiffened 
lips. 

Oh, it isn’t facts, — it’s the way these women put 
things,” cried May. “ I ought to know. I’ve been 
through enough.” 

“Do you mean, — they are speaking of my mar- 
riage ? ” 

“ Mostly, — though there’s something else I haven’t 
been able to catch on to. I don’t pull in that team, 
you know.” 

“ What is it that you know the ladies of Delphi 
are saying, please?” 

May fortified herself with a second cigarette. 
“ Well,” she stated, “ the worst I’ve heard, was that 
you got tired of marriage, and walked out of your 
husband’s house without warning.” 

“ Ah, — and they sympathise — these kind women 


280 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


of my own race — with, of course, my German hus- 
band? ” 

‘‘ Sure thing,” said May. “ It would be the same 
if he was a nigger. Anything to down another 
woman.” 

Inez rose. She was unable to remain quietly 
seated. A sneer curved her lips. 

And of course, too,” she pursued bitterly, ‘‘ the 
good ladies picture the deserted husband as waiting 
there alone in our beautiful ’ome, — waiting and pin- 
ing for the return of his errant wife. Is it not so? ” 

“ They didn’t hand it out on a silver tray like 
that,” said May, ‘‘ but the meaning comes around to 
about the same thing.” 

Doubtless, then, they will feel the great chagrin 
to be told that he is dead.” 

May, with a loud exclamation, got to her feet. 
‘‘ Put it there, old top ! ” she cried, extending a hand. 
‘‘ That’s good news. Guess I’ll spike a few rusty 
guns with it ! Well, so long. I want to get started. 
And remember, I’m your friend.” 

At the gate she gave a large gesture of goodwill, 
climbed into her waiting machine, and, pressing the 
self-starter, fluttered away. 

Inez, covering her face with both hands murmured, 
“ My first friend in Delphi, — my first woman friend. 
God! What is this dreadful place to make of me? ” 


CHAPTER XXII 


DR. KELSEY 

Through the intense stillness there came, from May 
Armstrong’s big, red car as it swept into the nearest 
side-street, the long, curved wail of her siren-horn. 
It cut the air like the stroke of a scimitar. Inez 
shuddered, and let both hands fall. 

After a moment of quivering inaction she gathered 
up her frayed nerves as she might a wind-tossed heap 
of skeins, and sped across the room. Her one de- 
sire now was to be alone. Even the uninviting guest- 
chamber upstairs offered a longed-for refuge. 

She gained the foot of the stairs. One white hand 
was on the newel post when a rustle came from the 
far end of the passage, and Mrs. Hemingway’s voice, 
thin, sweet, and now unusually tremulous, called, 
“Oh, that you, Inez.^^ I thought I heard May go. 
John’s on the telephone, waiting. He says he must 
speak to you at once.” 

“ Please say to him — ” Inez began, frowning ; 
then, with a hopeless little gesture, stepped down to 
the floor level and moved swiftly toward the box 
telephone which hung in a corner of the dining- 
room. Mrs. Hemingway kept at her heels. “ I’m 
sure it’s something x}ery important,” she fluttered. 
“ John sounded so — so sort of excited. I’ll declare 
281 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


I’m all of a tremble. It’s something about the hos- 
pital plans for Chicago.” 

The receiver hung at the full length of its green 
cord, swaying at the indignity. Inez caught it up. 
“ Yes, — it is Madame de Pierrefond. Ah, John — ” 

Mrs. Hemingway’s increasing perturbation de- 
manded the relief of words. Inez found the double 
listening not only difficult, but maddening. In an- 
other moment she would be in hysterics. 

“ Yes, John. Why, of course. At any moment.” 
This into the funnel-shaped opening of the box. 

‘‘ What on earth I am to get up for supper for 
such a prominent man — ” panted Mrs. Hemingway. 
“ Has he told you yet, Inez ? ” 

“ Not yet, Mrs. ’Emingway,” said Inez as calmly 
as she could. 

“ No, certainly I don’t mind. It will be a pleasure 
to go over the plans with some one who really 
knows.” This again into the funnel. 

“ Oh, Dr. Kelsey is a wonder! ” came J ohn’s voice 
with such gladness, that it went past Inez, and out 
into the room. 

“ What shall I have for supper.^ ” came the house- 
keeper’s despairing question. 

“ All right, John. In twenty minutes then. 
Good-bye.” 

Inez turned with some relief. She had not much 
faith in a “ wonder ” bred in the Middle West, nor, 
when she faced the tremulous, appealing little woman 


DR. KELSEY 


283 


behind her, did she have any helpful suggestions to 
offer. How was she, Inez de Pierrefond, to know what 
Chicago people liked to eat? But at least John was 
buoyantly interested, and this Dr. Kelsey’s visit 
would give an opportunity to discuss something be- 
yond the narrow personalities of Delphi. 

Again she started up the stairs. At every step, 
as it were, her skirt was caught by a nervously flung- 
out remark of the old lady. 

‘‘ It looks •oery hopeful for John, having this im- 
portant man come all the way to Delphi. Doesn’t 
it seem to you very hopeful, Inez ? ” 

Inez, two steps higher, admitted that it did. 

“ I believe broiled chicken on toast would be about 
as nice as anything. Don’t you ? ” 

“ Whatever you decide upon is sure to be nice, 
dear mother of my Jean,” asseverated the mounting 
figure. Three steps, and she would be at the door. 

“ I wish you’d put on that dress with the pink 
roses half hidden in it, Inez. That is, if you don’t 
mind my making the suggestion,” the sweet old voice 
pursued. 

“ Certainly I do not object. I will change at 
once,” smiled Inez, and was, at last, safe behind a 
closed door. 

But, even now, there was no time to “ have it out ” 
with herself. The dear old soul wished her to put 
on another gown. The one she already wore was of 
later mode, — but, if Jean’s mother wished — ! She 


284 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


shrugged her shoulders, and went into the closet of 
rusty hooks. She had only just begun to learn how 
to find her things. 

As the new toilet progressed she realised, with some 
satisfaction, that the effect of May Armstrong’s 
words was already paling. 

From the first line drawn by John for his hospital 
plans, she had been his counsellor and coworker. It 
was. her suggestion that some one part of it should 
be given a hint of the proposed interior decoration. 
She had chosen, for the experiment, a series of rooms 
meant for the children’s ward; first a great, quiet 
chamber for the very sick, a second, of equal size, for 
convalescents, and an enormous sun-parlour, tiled, 
with the glass panes all frosted in delicate designs 
of vines in fruit or flower. The sick room she had 
wished to do in soft grey tones, the colour of weath- 
ered cement that held a hint of sunshine. The wide 
frieze was to be painted in flat tones of the same 
neutral colour, shading here and there into grey- 
green, and in a soft lavender-blue, simulating a con- 
tinuous row of the wonderful swathed children who 
have made the name of the artist Luca della Robbia 
a household word. 

The second room was to be of a more golden tinge, 
the walls covered entirely by a shadowy lattice, at 
the foot of which great masses of flowers grew. 
These, all chosen for the decorative beauty of foliage 
as well as blossoms, were principally poppies, 
heaped-up hydrangeas, goldenrod, hollyhocks, and 


DR. KELSEY 


285 


tall swaying grasses, all done in flat, soft hues, a 
little less brilliant than nature. Among the stems, 
climbed and peered small woodland creatures such 
as all children love, bright-eyed chipmunks, squir- 
rels, “ bunnies ” on haunches, or nibbling fallen seed, 
green lizards, and phlegmatic toads, while off in one 
corner, where a shadowy stream swept through ferns, 
a family of otter was at work, and quite a colony of 
tortoises sunned themselves on a fallen log. The 
frieze for this room was a composition in birds, — 
all species of birds from Japanese storks in flight to 
a Baltimore oriole swinging in a pendent nest. 

Inez, who had no small artistic skill, had taken de- 
light in working out these four walls. She had made 
countless studies, and before daring to put the four 
sides together, had sought and gained the interested 
criticism of one of France’s most famous decorative 
painters. What joy it had been! And, until now, 
how hopelessly distant had seemed the old Paris 
days of creative work and happiness. Of course it 
was the same Jean here in Delphi, and presumably 
the same Inez. But something was different, some- 
thing wrong. 

A sudden, almost terrifying longing shook her to 
escape, to go back at once to that genial, busy, intel- 
ligent Paris which she knew and which knew her. 
She was parched in this sterile desert of the common- 
place. That very day, as soon as the Chicago man 
was gone, she would tell her lover that she could en- 
dure this little town of his no longer. His people’s 


286 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


ways could never be her ways. She could be won and 
held only by his renunciation. 

As in a vision she saw the astonishment and fol- 
lowing distress in his eyes. She loved him, yes, — 
she would be faithful and so devoted that it would 
more than compensate for all he must give up. But 
life for her in America was out of the question. 

Already he was falling back into old ways. She* 
recalled, with something like a sneer, how his voice 
had thrilled as he spoke of Dr. Kelsey. A Chicago 
‘‘ Important,” probably just a larger piece of the 
Delphi male fabric with perhaps, a louder pattern. 
He was sure to be fat and rich and complacent. 
What would such a man know of Della Robbia, or 
tracery on glass, of fairy, fragile vines. Most likely 
he would demand a frieze of pigs, alternating with 
American eagles. 

She heard the front door open, and John’s voice, 
still with the triumphant ring, Just step into the 
living-room. Dr. Kelsey. I’ll go call Inez.” 

So, already, to this Chicago magnate she was being 
spoken of as Inez! 

“ Inez is coming,” she said, a little caustically, as 
she began the descent of the stairs. 

John looked up radiantly. “You are the most 
beautiful thing on this earth,” he whispered, as she 
joined him. “I’m so proud that I’m bursting!” 

As they entered the living-room he still attempted 
to retain his clasp of her left hand. Inez, gently 
but decidedly removed it. 


DR. KELSEY 287 

A small, unremarkable-looking man, still unseated, 
turned toward them. 

Madame de Pierrefond, Dr. Kelsey,” said John, 
conventionally, mindful of his recent rebuff. 

The visitor, meeting Inez’ eyes, his own bright, 
direct and entirely at ease, stepped slightly for- 
ward, and bowed. 

“ Oh, come now ! ” J ohn protested. “ This is no 
Continental drawing-room. I want you two to shake 
hands in the good American fashion. You are sure 
to be friends.” 

“ With pleasure ; if Madame de Pierrefond gra- 
ciously permits,” smiled the visitor, and as Inez, in 
some wonder, extended her hand, he went through the 
gesture of partially raising it to his lips. His whole 
bearing was that of some old-world noble. 

“ Shall we sit here, near the open fire.^ ” said Inez. 

I find these spring days still a bit chillee.” 

Dr. Kelsey stood directly behind the chair she had 
indicated as her choice, and not until she was entirely 
comfortable did he make a detour to seek his own. 

‘‘What do you think, Inez!” cried John, unable 
longer to conceal his exuberance. “ Dr. Kelsey tells 
me that the hospital committee has cancelled all other 
competitions. They feel that ours is so satisfactory, 
there is no need of looking further.” 

“ I am pleased to hear the word ‘ ours,’ said Dr. 
Kelsey. “ Though, of course, my young friend has 
informed me concerning his most delightful partner- 
ship.” 


288 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ T^iis whole piece of good fortune is due to just 
one man,” cried John, beaming gratitude. “ And 
he’s here with us now.” 

“ I must not let you give me too much credit,” dep- 
recated the visitor. ‘‘ It is true that the committee 
were kind enough to take my point of view. On the 
other hand ” — here he looked, with kind humour, 
from one young face into the other, — “ the plans 
were their own best advocate. Personality played 
no part in my recommendation.” 

Inez did not realise how deep and thoughtful was 
the look she had rested on the face near her. He 
was so utterly unlike anything she had expected 
that she kept thinking there must be a mistake. 
This man, with his keen, dark eyes, his voice as 
gently modulated and more correct than her own, 
his perfect English clothes, and well-kept sensitive 
hands, might have just stepped from one of the most 
exclusive clubs in London. 

She was brought to herself by a nervous little 
clearing of the throat from John. “ Dr. Kelsey is 
most kind,” she murmured. 

“ From the moment I unrolled these plans,” went 
on the doctor’s quiet, assured tones, “ I noted a dif- 
ference. It was intangible, and yet unmistakable. 
There are still a few suggestions I would like to 
make,” he interposed, but with a smile that robbed 
his words of all hostile criticism. “ In spite of 
the slight faults, they caught and held me. The 
others were all more or less clever manufactures; 


DR. KELSEY 


^89 


these alone had an inner vitality. They had grown 
from a first thought. It is the difference between 
realistic scene painting and a growing copse.” 

Inez’ eyes kindled as she leaned toward the 
speaker. She felt a strange elation, a strange kin- 
ship with this man, so recently unknown. “ There 
is life in those plans,” she said eagerly. ‘‘We two, 
we two together, have put love and work and hope 
into them. It is as if they were our child.” 

“ What wonder then,” answered the man, his own 
eyes glowing, “ that the others had no chance ? ” 

Inez unconsciously pressed her hand against her 
throat. “ Is that not in all things the great mys- 
tery ? ” she whispered. “ The talisman that makes 
unreality real, the vital principle that transmutes 
even death into a resurrection.?’ Life, — freedom, — 
the development of the individual soul, — the power 
to infuse even a fibre of that imperishable essence.” 

The doctor bowed his head a little. John waited 
breathlessly to hear his words. 

When he spoke it was in a tone of reverence. “ A 
great writer, one now passed into the Shining Be- 
yond, but whom it was my inestimable privilege to 
know on earth, once wrote, ‘ Man is a pungent es- 
sence.’ That says it all.” 

There followed a moment of profound silence. The 
air about them seemed to vibrate and to thrill. From 
the kitchen came the muffled voices of Molly McGuire 
and her mistress. They had the sound of a dull 
thudding upon hollow wood. 


290 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


With an effort Dr. Kelsey roused himself. “ But 
we must not allow ourselves to wander too far into 
Olympus. Our concrete bit of it is before us in the 
form of plans. Shall I confess, madame,” he said 
more directly to Inez, “ that my first interest was 
caught and held by your very beautiful mural sug- 
gestions ? ” 

Inez flushed like a schoolgirl receiving public merit. 

“ Naturally,” the doctor went on, his tone gather- 
ing more assured lightness, “ the general structure 
and proportions were the final arguments. But little 
children are my special hobby, — and there was so 
much of tenderness, — of universal motherhood, so to 
speak, in those wonderful drawings — ” He broke 
off, gazed a little quizzically at Inez, and said, with 
an effect of impulsiveness, “ Surely, madame, you 
must have studied to be an artist in order to have ex- 
pressed yourself so vividly in mass and line.” 

‘‘ She could have been an artist, and a big one,” 
volunteered J ohn, proudly. Only she chose to put 
the time for it on music.” 

Ah, music, too ! ” smiled the other. “ I might 
have known. There is music in her decorations.” 

What do you mean by music in my decora- 
tions ? ” demanded Inez with growing excitement. 

“ Was not that bank of poppies sprung to the? 
thought of a sonata? ” 

Inez fell back, gasping. “You — you are a 
wizard ! While at work on that panel I played, con- 
stantly, the ‘ Appassionata.’ By the strong open- 


DR. KELSEY 291 

ing chords my stems rose ; the flowers and buds came 
at the call of the tenderer passages.” 

“ Am I wrong, too,” asked the doctor, his own face 
showing intense delight, “ in hearing Chopin among 
the swaying grasses, and the spirit of Grieg among 
the feathery tips ? ” 

Inez had gone white, but her eyes were like living 
stars. Yes, you comprehend. It is all to music, 
— all, do you hear.? I could work in no other way. 
And you have felt it. Why, even my Jean — ” 

Oh, I confess to blatant ignorance,” broke in the 
younger man, as if he did not wish to let her impet- 
uous speech go further. “ Over there in Paris, Inez 
was always trying to make me see that certain sorts 
of buildings could be constructed on the lines of cer- 
tain symphonies. But I could not grasp such sub- 
tleties. I am no musician.” 

Neither am I a musician,” said the doctor, with 
a kindly glance toward John. I am even base 
enough to find delight in a pianola. But even on that 
I play good things. And I believe that, in some 
measure, I understand Madame de Pierrefond, be- 
cause — ” 

Because, — yes, — yes — ” cried Inez, intolerant 
of the pause. 

I am a surgeon, as perhaps you know,” he con- 
tinued, looking directly into her eyes. I have had 
some little success.” 

He is the greatest surgeon in this part of the 
world,” interpolated John, with vehemence. 




THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ If I am successful,” went on the doctor, with his 
first hint of embarrassment, I ascribe it mainly to 
my collection of Persian pottery.” 

John stared, incredulous. Inez’ eyes grew even 
brighter. 

“ Some years ago, under the stimulus of that friend 
of whom I spoke, I began to see the beauty of old 
pottery. My choice, wide at first, and, as is in- 
evitable, a little self-mistrustful, gradually focussed 
upon old Persian.” 

“ I know. I ’ave seen, — just but a few,” breathed 
Inez. “ They have the look of molten rainbow, — 
and the feel — the touch, — mon Dieu! — it is as if 
the cream of the centuries has solidified an instant 
before.” 

Whenever there is a very difficult and hazardous 
operation, I spend the half-hour just before it, alone, 
in a locked room, with my treasures,” said he, after 
a look of deep comprehension toward Inez. “ I caress 
them, letting my fingers touch, first heavily, then to 
an imperceptible lightness, the iridescent surfaces. 
A sort of virtue seems to pass from them into me.” 

“ And you, — and you — ” whispered Inez, trem- 
ulously, “ are the rich man from Chicago.” 

John gave a horrified cry. 

‘‘ Be silent, Jean,” said Inez, quickly, her eyes not 
leaving the doctor’s face. “ If you like not what I 
am saying, you mus’ go. As for me, I hear — even 
in dis Middle West I thought arid — the waters of 
a living spring.” 


DR. KELSEY 


293 


Thank Heaven Dr. Kelsey is a married man,” 
cried John, to cover his discomfiture. 

Inez wheeled to him, her eyes flashing. 
“ Married ! Married ! It is all you think of, here 
in Delphi. What difference if such a man do have 
a dozen wives ! Is a pine tree less a pine, because of 
the birds’ nests in its branches? 

“ Tell me much of yourself. Dr. Kelsey,” she now 
pleaded, turning back to him. ‘‘ I mus’ hear — it 
may mean much for me to hear — how a man of your 
kind remain himself only, — in such environment. 
How you continue to make growth, for you grow al- 
ways — Tell me — ” 

“ Dear lady,” said the doctor, leaning far toward 
her in his earnestness. “ First of all, do not make 
the fatal mistake of belittling the new world because 
it is new. Even its crudity is part of youth and 
growth. I have been in most of the old-world cities. 
It has been my good fortune to meet and talk with 
great minds ; and I assure you, with deep sincerity, 
that nowhere on earth is there more natural intel- 
ligence, more beautiful humility of spirit, more in- 
tense eagerness to lay hold on the real things of life 
and of immortality, than here in the Middle West. 
I would be content to live in no other spot.” 

‘‘But Delphi, — a place of petty thought and 
mean, small souls like Delphi — ” she cried in pro- 
test, forgetting how the words might hurt her 
lover. 

“ These small towns, being more beset with trivial- 


294 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


ities, grow slowly,” said Dr. Kelsey, gravely. ‘‘ But 
even Delphi has John Hemingway and you.” 

With a swift, beautiful movement, Inez turned 
and held a hand out to John. But even he, — even 
my Jean, — it was that he came to Paris,” she tri- 
umphed. 

“ All divine fire is transmitted from older shrines,” 
smiled the doctor. ‘‘And the greatest privilege, in 
my opinion, that can be vouchsafed to a human soul, 
is that of torch-bearer.” 

Inez’ eyes fell. Her face quivered as if with 
some inner struggle. 

“ And may I be permitted to say, also,” added the 
doctor, softly, “ that your marriage, which I hope is 
not to be long deferred, seems to me to give promise 
of more beauty and of more world-betterment, than 
any I have known.” 

There was another long silence. Daylight was 
fading. The fire had been allowed to crumble low. 
A sort of chill crept in between the friends. John, 
of himself, released the hand he had been holding. 
He moved uneasily, dreading Inez’ next words. 

“ Dr. Kelsey,” she asked with sudden clearness, “ is 
it not your belief that each individual soul has the 
right, — or, to put it more strongly, — the sacred ob- 
ligation to live according to its own convictions ? ” 

The doctor kept very still. Through the shadows 
his face gleamed like a flake of white flint. He real- 
ised, and he knew that Inez intended him to realise, 
the full import of her query. 


DR. KELSEY 


295 


Is there such a thing as an individual soul,” he 
parried, or do you mean, perhaps, an isolated 
soul.^ ” 

The words brought an uncomfortable shock to 
Inez. “ Why,” she stammered, taken aback, “ I 
meant what I said. It is an ordinary expression, 
n’est-ce pas? The individual, — the ego.” 

Then,” said Dr. Kelsey, ‘‘ I can answer. There 
is no such thing as a soul which is alive and rational, 
being, in the sense you mean, individual. A soul or 
an intelligence — and in my vocabulary they are one 
— deliberately withdrawn from all others, must per- 
ish. You might as well look for a suspended flame.” 

‘‘And speaking of flames,” cried John, springing 
to his feet, “ we need some coal on our fire ; and, if 
I am not very much mistaken, the supper bell is going 
to ring in just about two minutes. Don’t you want 
to run up to my room, doctor ” 

The doctor agreed, with suspicious alacrity. 
Inez, left alone, stared deep into the smouldering 
grate. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 

The stream of feminine callers began, at last, to 
show signs of diminution. Perhaps it was fancy, 
bom of the new sensitiveness engendered by May 
Armstrong’s frank avowal, but, to Inez, the later ar- 
rivals appeared even more openly inimical. Rather 
wearily she marvelled why on earth they had taken 
the trouble to come. She made practically no efforts 
now to win their good graces, granting merely a chill 
courtesy. 

Aside from Mrs. McMaster’s initial effort to enrol 
the brilliant stranger among her militant sisterhood, 
and a casual invitation from Aunt Clara to “ drop in 
next Thursday evenin’ for an informal home sup- 
per,” Inez had been asked nowhere. John’s mother, 
while prepared for a certain amount of reserve and 
caution from her old friends, was amazed to note 
what now appeared an organised hostility. This 
grew steadily, and was so marked that, at times, the 
old lady felt almost desperate. There were still 
several of her special ‘‘ intimates ” who continued to 
run in at unexpected moments, but even these began 
to choose the hours when Inez was likely to be up- 
stairs in her own room. Mrs. Hemingway got up 


WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 297 


the courage to ask a few pointed questions, demand- 
ing the reason for such an attitude toward her boy’s 
future wife. In all cases, the excuses and evasions 
proved more alarming than more definite accusations. 

Kate McMaster was, perhaps, the least elusive. 
“ The truth is, Emma,” she declared, after a frown- 
ing silence, this Madame de Pierrefond ain’t our 
kind, and never will be.” 

‘‘But if she’s John's kind — ?” protested the 
other. 

“ Then why don’t he keep her where she belongs ? ” 
Mrs. McMaster snapped. 

At this the distress of the gentle old face before 
her was so evident that the heart of the militant one 
softened. “ Don’t look so worried. I didn’t mean 
just that,” she revoked. “ Of course it was only 
right and proper for John to bring her here to see 
his folks. All the same,” she added, with a new 
tightening of the lips, “ it was a bad move. She 
turns up her nose at the lot of us.” 

“ Oh, Kate ! ” cried Mrs. Hemingway. “ How 
can you say a thing like that.^^ She’s the gentlest, 
sweetest, most considerate — ” 

“ She’s got to be decent to you,” Kate interrupted 
rudely. “ She’s dead in love with John, and she’s 
got sense enough to know that with a man of John’s 
upbringing, his mother comes first. Oh, she’s no 
fool ! ” The admission was made with a defiant toss 
of the head. 

“ John has always been the best son in the world,” 


298 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


murmured the little mother, almost now in tears, “ but 
when a man marries — ” 

Yes, when he marries ! ” Kate broke in. “ That’s 
one of the things the women here are talking about. 
If you mention the subject to her, she’s off like a skit- 
tish horse. Even John turns red and avoids the sub- 
ject, if his own relations ask about the date. There’s 
something mighty queer. You can’t fool Kate 
McMaster.” 

“ Why, — didn’t you Jcnow? ” the elder lady ques- 
tioned, leaning forward eagerly, “ that they have 
waited until John could get a start? Inez is a very 
rich woman,” she stated, not without a certain com- 
placency, “and John wasn’t willing for them to 
marry until he had something of his own.” 

She folded her thin hands in her lap. The 
troubled look gave way to one of pride. 

“ He’s got that Chicago hospital, I understand,” 
said Kate. “ Have they said anything definite ? ” 

The pride faded. “ There hasn’t been time yet.” 

Kate set hard eyes upon her friend. Her expres- 
sion was a mingling of pity, scorn and superior wis- 
dom. “ Hump ! ” she e j aculated. “ I hear they 
have queer ideas about such things in Paris.” 

Then, as if determined to pursue the inflammable 
topic no further, she rose to her feet. “ Well, I must 
run along. I’m on my way to Mr. Crock to give 
him a piece of my mind about the sort of meat he’s 
been handin’ to us lately. He’s gettin’ so that he 
pa3^s no attention to the telephone.” 


WHAT CHARLIE DH> NOT TELL 299 

Mrs. Hemingway followed the sturdy figure to 
the door, 

I have never made any secret to Delphi of Inez’ 
unfortunate first marriage,” she said. “ It was not 
her fault, poor child. If it is that they are holding 
against her — ” 

The sentence faltered. 

‘‘ Oh, I don’t think it’s that,"* declared Kate 
cheerfully. Look at May Armstrong. It hasn’t 
seemed to hurt her much. But then she’s got the 
gall of an ox. Besides, there are a few — By the 
way,” she asked suddenly, turning around, “ has 
Mrs. Abbey and Cora Whitman — ? ” 

But Mrs. Hemingway, with a shake of the head, 
had vanished. 

Kate marched triumphantly down the cemented 
walk. Her massive chin was set. Now she nodded, 
as one who says, “ It is as I expected.” 

The little widow, left alone, hurried to her special 
nook in the comer of the living-room. The morning 
sun slanted in upon the comfortable, upholstered 
rocker, and made the various coloured scraps and 
spools in the open work-basket near, gleam like a 
section of a clotted rainbow. She sat down hesitat- 
ingly, her slight figure expressing lassitude and an 
unusual dejection. Eor once she had no instinct to 
catch up a piece of work. When the comfort of 
sewing failed, Mrs. Hemingway was lost indeed. 

Kate’s parting question had touched the sorest 
nerve of all the perplexities. Why had not Sarah 


300 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Abbey called? For thirty years they had been 
friends, good friends. Their two sons were insep- 
arable, and, before Inez’ coming, there had been, 
as Mrs. Hemingway knew, quite elaborate intentions 
to welcome her in the Abbey household. There was 
no doubt that something was “ going on,” something 
deliberately kept secret from John’s mother. 

At dinner time, John, before taking his place, gave 
a quick, anxious look toward his mother and ex- 
claimed, ‘‘ What has gone wrong, little mother ? 
You look worn out.” 

Inez, following his eyes, said affectionately, ‘‘ She 
is worn out, Jean, — this dear mother, wid the ar- 
ranging of good things to fill our worthless bodies. 
She remains too long in her kitchen. And what, after 
all,” she went on, with a smile, “ do it matter what 
we eat and drink, if onlee that we be merry ? ” 

“ That sounds all right from your point of view,” 
laughed J ohn, “ but I have strong doubts as to 
mother’s. She’s just a little proud of her house- 
keeping, — aren’t you. Mother o’ Mine ? ” 

“ And well may dear Mrs. ’Emingway he proud ! ” 
exclaimed Inez, who had no intention of being so 
easily put down. “ She is the paragon of all ’ouse- 
keepers. What I said was of ourselves, thou rude 
one ! ” she declared, with a wicked little grimace into 
the very face of the delighted John. “ Our lazy 
bodees are not worth the great trouble that la mere 
is taking.” 

At this, la mere, raising her eyes quickly above 


WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 301 


the tea-things, cried, “Oh, Inez! You Itnow John 
isn’t lazy. He is one of the steadiest-working young 
men that ever lived. And I am sure he didn’t mean 
to be rude. John is never rude.” 

“ Un-tfwp/i/ ” triumphed John. “Now will you 
be good! There’s somebody who appreciates me.” 
Carried away by his high spirits, and in a voice more 
remarkable for volume than for melody, he carolled, 
“ If I were hanged from the highest tree — ” 

“ Oof ! ” cried Inez, shrugging away from him. 
“ You aire the detestable. I onlee ’ope that the tree 
is high.” 

“ Inez ! ” began the old lady in a horrified tone, 
then, “ Oh, I see you’re just joking.” 

Inez sprang up, ran around to the other side of 
the table, and gave the little grey-clad figure an im- 
petuous embrace. “ I insist that J ean is a pig of 
conceit,” she teased merrily, “ but you, dear mother 
of my Jean, — you are entirely a seraph.” 

The family supper at Walter Hemingway’s had 
been set for this very evening. During the after- 
noon, John and Inez, working over further details 
in the now thrillingly important hospital plans, con- 
tinued in radiant mood. 

Several times the little mother, fearful that they 
might be a moment late, stole in to them, suggesting 
that they did not put off “getting ready” too 
long. 

Once John, a trifle impatient at the interruption, 
flung over his bent shoulder, “ Now don’t you worry 


S02 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


about our forgetting Aunt Clara’s party, little 
mother. There’s no such luck ! ” 

He turned to give her a loving pat on the arm. 
She tried to return his careless smile, but her heart 
was heavy. 

It was only natural, she reflected, that these young, 
blissful creatures should take the opinion of Delphi 
lightly. They had not to live always within the 
compass of its self-established social boundaries. To 
herself, whose permanent home it was, the good will 
of friends meant everything. 

In spite of her reiterated statement as to infor- 
mality, Clara was apparently making great prepara- 
tions. Twice she ran in to “ Emma,” always, of 
course, by the back door, to borrow certain articles. 
Her refusal, on both occasions, to “ sit down and 
rest a minute,” and her obvious reluctance to be 
drawn into any conversation which included Madame 
de Pierrefond, added to the apprehension which the 
elder Mrs. Hemingway was already beginning to feel 
as a nightmare weight. Whatever the mysterious 
cabal against Inez, Clara knew, and, in some measure 
at least, shared it. 

The supper hour was at seven. Exactly three 
minutes before the old “ grandfather ” hall-clock 
struck, Inez came running down the stairs. “ Ah, 
there you are,” breathed the little mother, who, for 
some time before, had been hovering near the foot. 
“ Clara thinks a great deal of punctuality. How 


WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 303 


very sweet you look, my dear ! ” This with an ad- 
miring glance toward Inez. 

“ Isn’t she a vision? ” beamed John, now coming 
up to them. 

The three moved together toward the entrance 
door. “ Please be specially nice to your Aunt Clara, 
John,” pleaded the mother, as the young couple 
stepped across the threshold. 

There was such sincerity in the tremulous voice 
that Inez could not restrain a glance of surprise. 
Mrs. Hemingway, meeting her eyes, flushed faintly. 
‘‘I — I — hope you won’t find the evening dull, dear 
Inez,” she said in the hurried way in which one fills 
up a pause that might become embarrassing. “ I 
believe you haven’t met Walter. He is very popular 
in Delphi, and many people think him very hand- 
some.” 

“ I ’ave no eyes for other handsome men,” declared 
Inez gaily, slipping her arm through John’s. 

Clinging together, they moved down the walk. 
They were both tall, slender and erect, and had the 
free stride of joyous young animals. To the loving, 
troubled eyes that watched them, they were the most 
beautiful beings in all the world. 

As they disappeared, she drew in a long sigh, and, 
stepping within the hall had nearly closed the door 
when the sound of rapid footsteps, coming along the 
pavement from an opposite direction, made her pause. 
It was young Abbey, entering with such haste that 


304 THE STRANGE WOMAN 

the old lady had to spring backward to avoid a col- 
lision. 

“ Oh, I heg your pardon, Mrs. Hemingway,” the 
boy gasped. I didn’t see you. John and Inez at 
home? ” 

“ No. They have just gone over to Clara’s for 
supper. I was closing the door after them.” 

Charlie turned. All right. It isn’t impor- 
tant. I’ll run in some time to-morrow.” 

I would like to speak to you a moment, Charlie. 
Won’t you come in?” 

Charlie was at the top step. “ Azehful sorry, 
Mrs. Hemingway, but I’ve got an engagement — ” 
His reluctance was obvious. 

Yet you were coming in to see John,” remarked 
the old lady, not without a certain archness. 

Charlie grinned, as he took off his hat and fol- 
lowed her. His whole manner said, “ Oh, Lord, I’m 
in for it.” 

The hostess did not keep him in suspense. 
‘‘ Charlie, have you any idea why your mother ha& 
not called on Inez ? ” 

The boy’s face reddened painfully. His eyes fell 
to his hat-brim which he now tormented and twisted 
with both hands. 

‘‘ I’m sorry to have to trouble you this way, dear 
boy,” said the old lady. “ I wouldn’t do it only that 
I know you are John’s friend, and — hers.” 

“ You bet your life I’m their friend,” he cried, 
with savage emphasis. 


WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 305 

Mrs. Hemingway waited, trembling. She hoped 
his vehemence would take the form of tangible state- 
ments, but Charlie was apparently forcing himself 
to silence, only a deep scowl betraying what he felt. 

“ Your mother and I have been good friends for 
thirty years. I was with her when you were born, 
Charlie. I feel that there must be some very real 
cause, — something she thinks a justifiable reason, 
that makes her willing to put this slight upon me 
and mine.” 

“ There isn't any reason,” the other burst out. 
“ It’s just a contemptible, hatched-up plot of Cora 
Whitman’s. You know,” he said by way of explana- 
tion, as Mrs. Hemingway threw him a startled look 
of inquiry, ever since John’s engagement was first 
announced, she’s been like a sore-headed cat. She’s 
got a chance now to do harm, and she’s doing it.” 

“ But,” protested the old lady, piteously, ‘‘ even 
if Cora wishes to be so — so — unchristian — ” 

‘‘ So devilish, you mean,” interpolated the boy, 
without apology for his expression. 

‘‘ Even if Cora is willing to do harm, — I cannot 
understand why your mother — ” 

Charlie’s lips were again tightly compressed. His 
eyes fell before the pleading of the sweet old face 
before him. 

“And you cannot tell me anything — definite.?” 
she faltered. 

“ I’m sorry,” choked the boy, looking as if he 
would in another instant, burst into tears. 


306 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Mrs. Hemingway rose to her feet. She realised 
it was useless to prolong an interview so painful. 
In her slight figure was a pathetic dignity. 

“ Something has got to be done,” she said firmly. 
‘‘ To-morrow I shall go in person with Inez, to begin 
the return of her calls.” 

The boy gave a low cry and an uncontrollable 
gesture of protest. ‘‘No, — don’t do that!” 

The old lady’s eyes flew open. She stared, as if 
unbelieving her senses, into the flushed and miser- 
able young face. Slowly all colour drained from 
her own, leaving it a transparent mask of fear. 

“Why — why — do you say that.^ And in such 
a way.? ” 

“ I only meant,” stammered Charlie, striving 
hard to gain self-control, “ that until we can get 
hold of something real, — something that the old 
cats think they have on Inez, — it’s better to lay 
low. Don’t you remember the old saying ‘ when in 
doubt, do nothing ’ ? ” 

By this he, too, was on his feet. The last words 
were spoken quite genially, and he forced the sem- 
blance of a grin. 

“ Perhaps you are right,” answered Mrs. Heming- 
way, at last, in a voice that was like the whisper of 
a ghost. “ But the situation is even worse than I 
thought. John’s happiness is being menaced. It 
is hard to do nothing when — when — ” 

“ I know it is. But don’t you break down,” said 
the boy comfortingly, with an arm around the bent, 


WHAT CHARLIE DID NOT TELL 307 


grey shoulders. “ Now just you trust Little Willy 
to find out everything, and we’ll fix it up in a jiffy.” 

“ You are a dear boy, Charlie,” she said, wiping 
her eyes. I am very thankful that we have one 
good friend.” 

“ Holy cats ! ” groaned Charlie, at last escaped 
and out under the open sky. ‘‘ If this isn’t the rot- 
tenest mess, ever! But how could I tell that shiver- 
ing old angel that I saw a copy of Inez’ book on my 
mother’s dressing-table, and that the fool talk in 
it against marriage has turned Delphi into a hor- 
net’s nest.? ” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


“YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!” 

During her stay in Delphi, which, by to-morrow 
would have reached the limit of its first week, Inez 
had, more than once, caught fleeting glimpses of 
John’s ‘‘ Aunt Clara.” She had appeared, like 
Mrs. McMaster, during the hour when the little 
family was at tea. But with the hour, all similarity 
ended. No dramatic contrast of studied ‘‘ en- 
trances.” could have been more vividly opposed. 
"While Kate assaulted, as it were, and bore inward 
upon their hinges the very gates of the quiet citadel. 
Aunt Clara, integrally part of the domestic at- 
mosphere, had the eflPect of a spontaneous mani- 
festation of something already there. 

Inez, as it chanced, had been the first to see her 
enter; and, with the quick eye of a writer, had ac- 
claimed her instantly as a “ type.” Throughout the 
short visit, this conviction deepened. Inez found 
herself watching, almost with eagerness, for the next 
words spoken by this self-contained, neutral, and 
yet impressive little woman. Nothing that she said 
or did was of particular interest ; yet, as Inez 
shrewdly guessed, no one, in Aunt Clara’s presence, 
ever forgot that she was there. 

On being presented by her tall nephew to 
308 


^'YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!” 309 


‘‘ Madame de Pierrefond,” she went forward, ex- 
tended a small hand, somewhat stained and roughened 
by constant household work, and with no more self- 
consciousness than if she were speaking to a child, ad- 
dressed the smiling stranger as I-nez,” giving the 
first syllable of the name an American rendering. 
From this pronunciation she never deviated. John 
and his mother might enunciate “ E^-nezz,” till the 
cows came home. Aunt Clara had seen it written 
“ I,” and, for her, I ” it was to remain. 

The hardly-veiled curiosity, the furtive sizing 
her up ” which Inez had noted, and was beginning to 
resent in other women, played no part in Aunt 
Clara’s impassive regard. Her nondescript eyes, 
like her voice, were held at a monotonous level; yet 
Inez felt instinctively — and correctly — that every 
inch of her external self was being caught and regis- 
tered as on a film. 

The visitor, after some friendly urging, was per- 
suaded to sit with them at table while John imbibed 
his third cup of tea. 

“ I always find it hard to break off,” the young 
man explained, as if to apologise for his delay, “ but 
you don’t realise what it means to a fellow who’s 
been in exile, to get back to these wonderful, home- 
tasting things.” 

“ I guess it must be,” responded Aunt Clara, un- 
emotionally. “By the way, John, what did you 
ever do with my little pie dish and the jelly glass 
I packed in the lunch you took away ? ” 


310 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


John stared. He had long since forgotten there 
had ever been a lunch. Inez, catching his expres- 
sion, raised her serviette to her lips to hide a smile. 
But old Mrs. Hemingway was looking anxious, and 
Aunt Clara, her eyes as steady as two imbedded bul- 
lets, held him at gaze. 

‘‘I — I’m — afraid. Aunt Clara, that I can’t re- 
call now exactly what did become of them.” 

Well, they are no great loss. The pie dish had 
a crack in it, and I had been putting jelly into that 
glass every summer since you have been bom.” 

A few moments later she had issued the invita- 
tion on which now, this Thursday evening, J ohn and 
Inez were on the way to fulfil. 

During the interim, ‘‘Uncle Walter,” so John 
now informed his companion, had been on one of his 
increasingly frequent trips to Chicago. By a pe- 
culiar but also increasingly frequent coincidence, Mrs. 
Armstrong had felt it necessary to betake herself 
to the same metropolis. This latter fact, however, 
John did not mention. In spite of his kinship to 
the middle-aged Lothario, John had caught enough 
of local gossip to realise that tongues were busy with 
the new scandal. He resented bitterly that, just at 
the present moment when his own affair hung, as it 
were, in the balance of popular approval, there 
should be further cheapening of the Hemingway 
name. 

On the other hand, Walter was mayor of the town, 
and still accounted by the majority a “ bully sport.” 


“YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!” 311 


His friendship and good-will were not to be despised. 

So when Inez, apparently without premeditation, 
suddenly demanded that John tell her more about 
his Uncle Walter before she should meet him, the 
young man could not conceal a start of embarrass- 
ment. 

“ Oh, Uncle Walter is all right 1 ” he declared, 
with an ob^dous effort at heartiness. “ You know 
he doesn’t want me to call him ‘Uncle’ any more. 
Says it makes him feel old.” 

“ He is a vain man, then — this Oncle Walter who 
mus’ not be called ‘ Oncle ’ ? ” 

“ I’m afraid he is,” admitted John. “ You see, 
he has a big political following, not only in Delphi, 
but all through the country near. And then — ” 

“And then — ” encouraged Inez, smiling wisely. 

“ For some ungodly reason, — women like him.” 

“ I thought that was coming. And do you not 
fear, my Jean,” she persisted, teasingly, “ to submit 
an innocent like me to the charms of your Don Juan 
of Delphi.? ” 

John, looking down, returned her smile, but his 
own was a little rueful. “ I’m only afraid that you 
are going to dislike him so much you can’t help show- 
ing it.” 

“ Ah ! That puts a new face upon the matter. If, 
as you now hint, I am to dislike so gallant a gentle- 
man, — is it better that I should hide it ? ” 

“ I believe it is, darling,” he said, giving the arm 
in his a loving pressure. “ Mother is worrying her 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


3ia 

poor little head already because — well — because 
she doesn’t feel that Delphi is appreciating you just 
as it should. Aunt Clara is friendly, though, and 
in her quiet way she is a force. It won’t do to an- 
tagonise her husband.” 

“ Is she, then, one of the women who are in love 
with her ’usband.'^” 

John grinned. ‘‘ It’s beyond me to imagine Aunt 
Clara in love with anybody. But she’s religious, and 
she’d fight for him.” 

“ She may be religious,” remarked Inez, sapiently, 
but that is not the reason she would fight. Ohe, — 
do not look troubled, my Jean. I will be nice to 
Oncle Walter.” 

A moment later a front door was opened by that 
person in the flesh, — much flesh, — clothed in so mar- 
vellous a conception of male evening attire that, for 
an instant, Inez was guilty of the rudeness of an 
open-mouthed stare. 

He wore grey trousers, creased until there seemed 
to be a measuring rod down the front of each 
leg. His waistcoat was starched to the likeness of 
a white celluloid breastplate; and the long frock 
coat had tails which swirled with each motion, like 
the skirts of a modern dancer. As a crowning joy, 
he displayed a necktie of geranium red, adorned with 
a diamond horseshoe. 

‘‘So you’ve come!” he shouted, joyously. 
“ Walk right in. Glad to see you ! Gee whizz, 
John I But you’re the lucky nut all right 1 ” 


‘^YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!” 313 


His huge voice, booming past them into the night, 
reverberated against the walls of the neighbouring 
houses, where more than one oblique and listening 
ear twitched, as to a battle trumpet. 

“ Clary ! ” — this, on sudden impulse to the shad- 
owy far end of the hall — ‘‘ Our turtle-doves are 

here.” 

Without waiting for his wife’s verbal acknowledg- 
ment of the fact so poetically stated, Walter wheeled 
round again, his coat-tails standing out with the 
swift motion. 

“ You haven’t introduced us yet, John. But, 
what’s the dilf ? We’re kin. I’m Walter,” he stated 
beamingly to Inez, and held out his hand. “ And 
you’re — ” 

“ Madame Inez de Pierrefond,” enunciated Inez, 
very clearly. 

John gave her an imperceptible nudge. But he 
need have felt no fear. Walter was not of a nature 
to be easily rebuffed. 

“ Madame de Grandmother! ” he vociferated, even 
more heartily. Not on your life ! A niece-in- 
law, that’s the winner yon are,” — here his eyes 
fairly deposited saccharine lumps of admiration 
full in her upraised face. “ She’s goin’ to be 
‘ 7-nez ’ from the start. That’s right. Eh, 
John.? ” 

John, wincing slightly under the broad wink that 
was half a leer, hastily assured him that it was right ; 
at which Inez, perforce, attempted a smile, and re- 


314 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


linquished her chill fingers to what seemed a digitated 
section of warm, red, butcher’s meat. 

Now, along the hallway. Aunt Clara’s nasal tones 
were heard. 

‘‘ I told you to invite them into the livin’-room, 
Walter. And shut that front door quick, or some 
folks will be failin’ outer their second-floor win- 
dows.” 

Inez, through her amusement at the words, was 
conscious of noting the peculiar, carrying quality of 
the voice that uttered them. It had not been raised 
by the hundredth part of a degree, yet it pervaded 
the house like an essence, sending its vibrations, it 
would appear, through the very woodwork of the 
now closed front door. 

‘‘ Supper’ll be on in a minute,” Aunt Clara added, 
though remaining all the time invisible. “ Ask I-nez 
if she don’t want to lay aside her hat.” 

“ Ain’t got a hat. Come bare-headed,” bawled 
the master of the house. Even so commonplace a 
remark seemed to afford him a sort of triumphant 
satisfaction. 

He strode before them into the “ parlour,” snapped 
on the electric lights, and, placing himself on the 
hearth-rug with feet unnecessarily far apart, dis- 
tended the white waistcoat in a long, proprietary 
sigh of well-being. 

“ Don’t wonder you come bare-headed,” he now 
said, admiringly, fixing his bold eyes on Madame de 
Pier ref end’s gleaming crown. “ Your hair shines 


“YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!” 315 


jest like the bottom of my wife’s copper preservin’ 
kittle.” 

“ Now Unc — now, Walter,” John put in, laugh- 
ing. “ Inez’ head may look like a copper kettle, but 
I don’t want you to turn it.” 

“ Shucks 1 ” exclaimed the other, in huge delight, 
giving the words an interpretation John could not 
have foreseen, “ Inez wouldn’t look twice at a staid 
old married man like me.” 

“ Ah, dear Mr. ’Emingway,” murmured the wicked 
Inez, “ it is imposseble to keep from looking at you, 
no matter how much I might wish not to do so.” 

“ Ah, come on 1 ” he roared, ecstatically. “ You’re 
kiddin’. Well, who knows, I may make John mind 
his ‘ p’s ’ and ‘ q’s ’ yet 1 ” 

Perhaps fortunately for all. Aunt Clara, at this 
precise instant, materialised in the doorway, and as- 
sured them, dryly, that supper was on the table. 

Inez rose and moved toward her hostess. The lit- 
tle woman apparently did not see her visitor’s tenta- 
tively outstretched hand. Inez bit her lip, wonder- 
ing whether John had noticed, then followed meekly 
the lead of Aunt Clara’s narrow, but strangely un- 
compromising back. 

It proved, for two of the company at least, a most 
uncomfortable repast. The table was loaded with 
enough food for twenty. In dispensing this, and 
urging her guests to eat far more than was physically 
possible, Aunt Clara was evidently fulfilling her en- 
tire ideal of hospitality. All “ conversation ” was 


316 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


left to Walter. He was accredited, in Delphi, with 
being entertaining, and, to-night, spurred and in- 
spired by the propinquity of the most beautiful 
woman he had ever seen, he demonstrated himself not 
only an orator but a man of sentiment. Byron was 
quoted freely. Even a few lines of Shakespeare were 
essayed, but this bard, being notoriously difficult to 
remember verbatim, was soon abandoned. 

Inez, true to her promise, forced herself to give 
the appearance of a delighted listener. She kept her 
dark, wonderful eyes fixed upon the host’s increas- 
ingly crimson face. Indeed, it soon became her chief 
preoccupation not to see John. She knew only too 
well what he was thinking. 

Aunt Clara’s withdrawn silence threw no cloud 
upon her husband’s loquacious geniality. He was ac- 
customed, as he would have expressed it, for Clara 
to take a back seat when her showy husband was 
around. 

Once only, and then in the midst of a particu- 
larly florid declamation, did her ear-arresting voice 
assert itself. She seemed to be speaking to the cen- 
tre-piece, a small round dish of filagree silver, filled 
with artificial ferns. 

‘‘ This whole town thinks a lot of your mother, 
John. There’s not a better or more Christian 
woman in it than Emma Hemingway, even if she 
don’t go to church as often as some.” 

Walter, amazed, scowled fiercely at the unwonted 
interruption. 


“YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!” 317 


“ I don’t know as I’ve heard anybody sayin’ things 
against Emma,” he remarked, in a tone which he 
intended to convey a mingling of sarcasm and re- 
proof. 

Aunt Clara ignored him as she might a piece of 
furniture. Inez, sending a swift, uncontrollable 
glance toward her hostess, saw only an expression- 
less parchment-coloured face, with small, inscrutable 
eyes fixed steadily upon the teapot she was now 
lifting. 

W'alter, for a few moments longer, continued to 
fume ; and then, emphasising the bravado of his 
manner, plunged into a joke which, to say the least 
of it, was not ever intended for a Delphi family 
party. Aunt Clara sat on, a silent, almost motion- 
less image of disapprobation. A sort of dry chill 
seemed to emanate from her. 

A little after nine the young guests, thankful to 
be able to escape, made some trivial excuse and fled. 
Walter’s stentorian utterances of comradeship and 
life-long affection followed them nearly out of sight. 

“Lord, but wasn’t that fierce!” ejaculated John, 
with a long sigh of relief when at last they were well 
out of earshot. “I’ve never known Uncle Walter 
to be quite so intolerably vulgar. And as for Aunt 
Clara! It gave me the creeps just to be near her. 
What on earth was the matter, anyway Do you 
suppose she felt ill.^ ” 

“ No,” answered Inez, with a twisted smile that 
he did not see. “ Only virtuous.” 


318 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


‘‘Virtuous?” echoed John, taken aback by the 
unexpected statement. “ Do you mean about Wal- 
ter’s silly gush and his jokes?” 

“ Oh, not at all. She must be used to him by 
this time. It is something newer, — a pleasing vari- 
ety, as it were.” 

“ Well, it doesn’t matter,” cried John, after a 
moment of puzzled and frowning silence. “ We 
have wasted too much time on them already. There’s 
something a good deal more important I wish to 
speak of.” 

He paused, but Inez made no encouraging sound. 

“ Of course,” he began, with a hint of diffidence, 
“ you realise that with to-morrow morning, the week, 
— your week of, — er — of — ” 

“ Probation? ” suggested Inez. 

“Well, if you want to call it that,” he rejoined, 
with an attempt at a laugh. “ Anyway, it’s up. 
And you know, too, that with the certainty of this 
big hospital job, I am, for the first time in a posi- 
tion to — to — ” 

Still she kept silence. She scarcely seemed to 
breathe. 

“ Inez,” he burst out, passionately, “ don’t keep 
your face turned from me. I want you for my — 
for mine, I need you, Inez — ” 

“ You have me,” she put in. 

“ But not in all the ways I want. You must be 
mine before the world — before our friends. In 
each step of this work I shall need you. And even 


‘‘YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!” 319 


if I have to spend a while in Chicago, would it seem 
to you now quite so dreadful — since you have met 
Dr. Kelsey, and realise that there are other men — 
and women too, — of his fine calibre, living there?” 

He had hurried on almost as if fearful of inter- 
ruption, but now came to a deliberate stop, waiting 
for her reply. 

“ The long talk I have had with Dr. Kelsey has 
made for me a great difference. That I admit,” 
said Inez, slowly. 

“ And the wife of such a man is sure to be inter- 
esting! Through them you will make other friends. 
Everybody will be crazy over you. And of all the 
proud and happy fellows — ” 

“ Don’t ! ” came in a sharp cry from his compan- 
ion. “ You are flinging to the winds our real issue. 
Above all things, my Jean, we must not blind our- 
selves to what is real. Tell me, my Jean, — tell me 
wid your mind and not your heart, — would eveil so 
great a man as Dr. Kelsey be our friend?” 

“Why — what do you mean, Inez? You 
know — ” he stammered, and then, before her seri- 
ous gaze, fell silent. 

“ You have promised me that our union before 
the world should be, — when your position in finance 
made it possible, — the free, untrammelled, beautiful 
companionship which in my soul I believe to be the 
one way to exalted happiness. Have you not prom- 
ised that, my Jean?” 

“ I have promised, Inez, and if you insist, I shall 


320 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


keep my word,’’ he said, and his voice had the sound 
of earth thrown on a coffin-lid. 

She threw her head back quickly. Impetuous 
words fought against her closed lips. Her strug- 
gle for self-control was evident. Suddenly she 
walked past him, and not until his gate was reached 
did she pause for him to rejoin her. 

Old Mrs. Hemingway, at the sound of the gate, 
came running to the front porch. Under the single 
electric light she fluttered like a grey moth in im- 
prisonment. 

‘‘ There’s a telegram for you, John,” she cried, 
before the two had reached her. ‘‘ It came a few 
minutes ago. I’m so anxious.” 

Why, little mother, there’s nothing to worry 
over,” he said, tenderly, and before opening the mis- 
sive stooped to kiss her. ‘‘ It’s probably, only, — 
yes, just what I thought, — the hospital committee 
want me to take an early train to Chicago in the 
morning. They need me for some consultations.” 

“ You will go, of course,” said Inez, in a quick, 
decisive tone. It was almost as if she felt relief. 

“Well, rather!” said John, in even greater relief. 
“ This makes things begin to look like business.” 

Before the little family separated for the night, 
a ten o’clock train next day had been decided on. 
Inez stated that, for once, she would give over her 
lazy habit, and rise to have breakfast with her 
“Jean.” “Then, also,” she added, charmingly, “I 
will walk to the little station with you.” 


“YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!” S21 


John felt as if a wagon-load of wet clay had been 
removed from his heart. From Inez’ altered tone 
and manner he inferred, and rightly, that the vexed 
question of their “ union ” was to be deferred until 
after his return. In spite of his consuming love for 
Inez, he was guilty of an inward hope that the com- 
mittee would keep him for several days. He did 
not need to ask Inez to say nothing, in the interval, 
to his mother. No woman with a spark of delicacy 
could be so cruel. 

Next day the breakfast proved something of a 
high feast. Flowers were in the centre of the table. 
Through the old-fashioned windows the sun poured 
a river of intangible gold. Inez was, herself, like 
some beautiful tropical flower, unfolding new petals 
to the warm glow. All three felt as if, somehow, a 
calamity had been averted. Even Molly McGuire, 
in her kitchen, shared in the general exhilaration, 
and her rich, throaty voice could be heard singing 
a queerly interwoven medley of snatches, some from 
the old ballads of her native Ireland, and others 
from popular American ragtime tunes. 

A loitering urchin from the street was lured, by 
the double reward of a good breakfast and subse- 
quently a “ quarter,” to take J ohn’s dressing bag 
to the station; after which negotiation the young 
man, untrammelled, except by a little grey-gloved 
hand upon his arm, stepped merrily out into the sun- 
shine, and proceeded in the direction of the station. 

During the brief walk a puzzling incident oc- 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


curred. On the chief shopping street through which 
they had to pass, Inez was certain that she caught 
a glimpse of Charlie Abbey. The boy paused, 
stared a moment, and then darted in at the nearest 
drug-store. 

“ Why, what is it? ” cried John, at her low ex- 
clamation. 

Nothing,” she answered quickly. I nearly 
turned my ankle. That was all.” 

‘‘ I’ve told you before that Delphi pavements were 
not built for high French heels,” said John, with 
tender possessiveness, entirely satisfied with her men- 
dacious explanation. As they stood waiting for the 
train which was, as usual, a few moments late, Inez 
gave more than one furtive glance backward to see 
if Charlie had followed. This evasion was so utterly 
unlike him. 

The bright mood suddenly clouded, but when John 
rallied her upon her woebegone expression she easily 
set his doubts to rest by saying, ‘‘ And how else 
should I look when my Jean is leaving me? ” 

At last he was off. Inez, turning from a final 
wave of “ good-bye,” came face to face with Charlie. 
For once at sight of her, he did not smile. 

‘‘ Where’s John going? ” he asked, breathlessly. 

“To Chicago. Why?” 

“Will he be gone long?” 

“ Only a day or two, I think. What has gone 
wrong with you, Sharlee ? ” 


“YOUR SINS HAVE FOUND YOU OUT!” 32S 


“Well,” the boy muttered, speaking to himself 
rather than to her, “perhaps it’s better without 
him.” 

“ What is better widout him.?^ Why do you look 
like — like — the funeral day.?^ I am frightfully in- 
trigued. Tell me quick.” 

“ Not here with all these idiots staring. Let’s go 
to some quieter street.” 

Inez could scarcely control her impatience. 
“ Now,” she demanded, as their swift strides brought 
them into a comparatively empty side street. 
“ What is it? ” 

“ The devil’s own mess,” Charlie groaned. 

“ But how, in this little Delphi, could you manage 
to get into great trouble ? ” she insisted, wonderingly. 

“ It isn’t me at all, — it’s you! ” he blurted. 

“Me? Some new, bad thing of me?” she ques- 
tioned, staring. “ But I have done nothing, Shar- 
lee.” 

“ Listen, Inez,” said the boy, placing one hand on 
her arm and holding it tightly, as if to steady her 
against what was to come. “ There’s no use minc- 
ing matters. You have got to be told straight out. 
The town is wild. Mother and Cora Whitman, and 
that Chicago cat who’s visiting Cora have flooded 
Delphi with copies of your book.” 

“ My book, — my poor little onlee book,” echoed 
Inez, in a dazed way. “ So my ^ sins — ’ ” 

“ Yes, your sins have found you out, all right,” 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


S24! 

supplemented Charlie, with a grimace meant for a 
smile. “ But what you don’t seem to catch onto 
is the fact that, unless we find some way to stop ’em, 
the women are going to hold you up to public dis- 
grace.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


« FREE LOVE ” AS INTERPRETED BY DELPHI 

His hand fell away. In this lessening of the clutch, 
Inez for the first time perceived how the boy was 
trembling. They stared at each other for a long 
instant without speaking. Tremulously her voice 
broke the silence. 

But, Sharlee. I have done nothing to the 
women of this village. Many have come to see me, 
— oh, I knew well it was as if to see a monkee in 
its cage — but they came. I was, to them all, 
courteous. At the first I try quite hard to win them. 
When I saw that it was not possible, — still I re- 
main courteous. And, as for my book, — ” here the 
long throat straightened — ‘‘ it is not a bad book. 
It is sincere.” 

“ That’s the worst thing about it, that it is sin- 
cere ! ” 

She gave a startled exclamation. “ Sharlee ! Is 
it you, my frien’, who will say a thing like that ? ” 
Forgive me, Inez,” he stammered, “ I was speak- 
ing from the Delphi standpoint. You know I al- 
ways thought it was a bully book. I’ve kept that 
copy you gave me under lock and key. Your ideas 
seemed fine over there. But here, — now that we’ve 
come to Delphi! — ” He paused, then uncontrol- 
325 


S26 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


lablj burst out, “ Oh, Inez ! haven’t you been here 
long enough yourself to realise that your opinions 
are like firebrands flung into a hayloft? You can’t 
blame ordinary home people like these for laking 
fright. They simply will not stand for it; and un- 
less we can find some way to prevent — ” He broke 
off, unable to state in cold words the possible magni- 
tude of her humiliation. 

You are absurd,” said Inez, haughtily, though 
her delicate nostrils had begun to whiten with anger. 

I have no fear. What, — now I ask you, Sharlee, 
you who have seen me among friends in my own 
’ome, — what could this illiterate feminine canaille 
of Delphi, Iowa, do to such as me? ” 

“ That sounds well,” retorted the other, not alto- 
gether delighted at her sweeping scorn. ‘‘ Marie 
Antoinette said the same thing ; and you know where 
she got it ! ” He made a significant gesture across 
his throat, accompanied by a clicking sound. 

Again Inez’ lips twitched. There were times 
when her sense of humour was a little inconvenient. 

“ Besides,” the boy hurtled on, they are not pro- 
posing any personal attack on you. The quaran- 
tine flag’s waving over your head, already. It’s 
John they’ll tackle, — John, — and through his 
mother.” 

At last she blanched. ‘‘ They would go to Jean’s 
mother! They would denounce the future, — wife 
of my Jean to his mother’s face. No, — no, — they 
would not dare I ” 


« FREE LOVE ” 


S27 


‘‘ A bunch of females organised into what they 
call a ‘ Moral Crusade ’ will dare anything, and you 
know it. Look at the English suffragettes ! ” 

The bravado was all gone. Her white face 
twitched as if with a convulsion of fear. “ I 
begin to see — yes, something must soon be done 
for her sake, — she must not be broken of 
heart, — Jean’s mother. She is too gentle, — too 
kind.” 

‘‘ Let’s go back to the house and talk it over 
quietly,” suggested Charlie. ‘‘ I’m perishing for a 
cigarette.” 

In utter silence they walked back toward the Hem- 
ingway homestead. Now and again Charlie sent a 
compassionate glance to the beautiful, set face be- 
side him. His young heart ached for her. He 
longed to champion her cause before the world, — 
especially his own small world of Delphi, yet he was 
conscious now of a certain male satisfaction that she 
had begun to “ see reason.” 

Mrs. Hemingway was out on the “ piazza,” water- 
ing her boxes of growing plants. She pushed her 
spectacles back to smile at Charlie. 

« Fm glad you have come back with Inez,” she said 
in her thin, sweet voice. “ It will be good for her 
to have young companionship, and not go off mop- 
ing in her room. The house does seem so empty 
without John.” 

With a sudden impulse, Inez leaned over to kiss 
the fragile cheek. It always reminded her of a win- 


3S8 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


ter rose that had been touched by frost. Something 
quick and hot stung her eyelids. 

“You are dear and good, — you mother of my 
Jean,” she whispered. 

As she straightened herself to her full, slim 
height, the older lady looked up adoringly. “ Do 
you wonder I’m proud of my new daughter.? ” she 
appealed to Charlie. “ Nobody knows how sweet 
she is to me, how considerate of all my old-fashioned 
thoughts and ways. Just at first I was a little bit 
afraid of her,” she confessed shyly, but with radiant 
eyes. “ She was so tall and beautiful, — like a 
strange lovely orchid among my old-fashioned gar- 
den flowers. But now that we have come to know 
each other — ” A loving pat on Inez’ arm completed 
the sentence. 

“ Oh, Inez is all right, all right ! ” declared 
Charlie, just a little huskily. “ And John is the 
luckiest fellow on the upper side of earth.” 

“ John thinks so,” nodded the old lady. “ Well,” 
she added, with a change of voice and manner to 
that of the preoccupied housewife. “ I must be 
running along. This is my busy time of morning, 
as Inez knows. Make yourselves at home, young 
people. The living-room and dining-room are both 
cleaned up.” She started in at the door, but paused 
on the threshold to say, “ There’s a tin box full of 
fresh cinnamon cookies in the sideboard, Inez. They 
are the kind John likes so well. Try and make 
Charlie eat some.” 


« FREE LOVE ” 


329 


As, finally, the light sound of her footsteps trailed 
into silence, the two friends once more sought each 
other’s eyes. In those of the woman there was a 
suspicion of tears. 

She put her handkerchief furtively to them as 
she moved into the darkened living-room. “ Ahe ! ” 
she sighed aloud, this is the queer life, Sharlee ; 
and more especially so in your leetle hometown called 
Delphi.” 

For more than an hour they talked. The sinister 
problem was discussed from every point of view. 

The only thing 1 can think of that has a chance 
of stopping ’em,” said Charlie once, rubbing his per- 
plexed young head into a yellow mop, “ is for you 
to write a letter, — a sort of open statement, you 
know, saying that you are willing to take back all 
that stuff you wrote against marriage. That’s the 
part that’s got ’em on the raw.” 

“ Take back ? ’Ow do you mean, ‘ take back ’ ^ ” 
cried Inez, puzzled and frowning. “ Surely you do 
not wish me recant all the beliefs and opinions of 
me ? ” 

Charlie refused to cower. “ You needn’t really 
do it, you know,” he urged with such frank duplicity 
that his listener gasped. “ Just as a bluff. To 
spike their guns, as it were. I don’t see why you 
should look so horrified. This English translation 
makes you out a lot worse than you are. You told 
me so yourself. John was furious when he first read 
it.” 


SSO THE STRANGE WOMAN 

“ Sharlee Abbee,” said Inez, when she could get 
her breath, what you now advise is simply the most 
hideously immoral, soul-destroying thing that it is 
in the human imagination to think up. I am 
ashamed of you.” 

“ That’s all right about your being ashamed,” an- 
swered the boy, doggedly. You’re talking Paris 
high-brow, and I’m talking little Delphi-on-the- 
spot.” 

“ I would rather,” shivered Inez, as slowly she 
got to her feet, “ be chopped into small and living 
bits than be so contemptible a coward ! ” She cast 
him a single, withering glance, and moved haughtily 
across the room. 

Charlie remained seated. He did not look at her. 
Now deliberately he lighted a cigarette. 

“ I believe you,” he said, pleasantly. And I 
admire your heroism ; but don’t let us get away from 
the important fact that it isn’t you who’ll be 
chopped, — but old Mrs. Hemingway and John.” 

There was an instant of silence, broken by a low 
strangled cry. Both of Inez’ hands went to her 
temples. “ Sharlee, Sharlee, you will drive me en- 
tirely mad ! ” 

‘‘ I don’t want to do that, Inez. Honest, I don’t. 
I only want to help you.” 

She flung herself slightly from side to side, her 
head thrown back. It would seem that she strove 
for more air than the crowded room could give her. 
Charlie thought of a beautiful caged panther, newly 


« FREE LOVE ” 


331 


trapped, that once he had seen. The bars against 
which this brilliant and impetuous spirit now beat 
were scarcely less tangible. 

“ Cela est impossible! Tres , — bien — impossi- 
ble! ” she panted, more to herself than to him. “ To 
bow the head and cringe, before such creatures, — to 
put on sackcloth for these narrow minds to jeer. 
Sharlee, I cannot ! ” She paused before him, white 
and shaken. 

Sit down here, Inez,” the boy cried, springing 
up. ‘‘ You’re white as a ghost. We’ll try to figure 
out something else. Though, to tell the truth,” he 
added in a lower and intensely dejected tone, as he 
drew a second chair near hers, ‘‘ my bean is already 
empty, I’ve thought so hard.” 

But you see dis for yo’ own sef’, — n^est-ce pas? ” 
she pleaded, the fine edges of her English blurring, 
as always, under great stress of feeling. For me, 
Inez de Pierrefond, to make public confession of a 
fault I do not admit to be de fault — ? Is it not 
beyond imagining? ” 

The boy frowned, looking very thoughtful. 
‘‘ There is a question I want to ask you. It’s from 
the shoulder, Inez. It goes pretty deep, and you 
may resent it.” 

“ No, — no, — I do not resent anything from you. 
You are my bes’ frien’, Sharlee, — my onlee frien’, 
now that my Jean is not near.” 

Tell me then,” he demanded, his straight-for- 
ward eyes on hers ; “ since you have been in America, 


S32 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


— and especially since you’ve been here among 
John’s own surroundings, — haven’t your own opin- 
ions begun to look a little different? ” 

Inez’ lids fell. She caught her breath sharply. 

“ You know,” he hurried on as if to give her more 
time for answering, ‘‘ even over there I warned 
you that such theories would never go down at 
home.” 

“ Somesing is different, — I have felt that some- 
sing in myself was changing,” she murmured, tremu- 
lously, ‘‘but until now I did not suppose it might 
be de opinions of me.” 

The face before her cleared with sudden bright- 
ness. “ You are a thoroughbred, Inez,” he cried. 
“ If this is a fact, I believe everything’s going to 
come right.” 

“ Can it come right, an’ yet me not be seated in 
de public pillory ? ” she asked with such naive child- 
ishness that it was all the boy could do to keep from 
laughing. 

“ It won’t be as bad as a pillory,” he smiled, lean- 
ing forward and taking one of her restless hands in 
his, “ but see here, Inez. If your theories are 
changing, and a statement of them would save all 
sorts of trouble for John, — wouldn’t you be selfish, 
as well as insincere to hold them back for the sake 
of your personal pride ? ” 

“ Sharlee, Sharlee, you should ’ave been the 
preacher,” she cried, with a little gleam of fun that 
encouraged and delighted him. 


« FREE LOVE ” 


333 


“ Now, let us go back a leetle,” she suggested, 
withdrawing her hand that she could fold them both, 
sedately, in her lap. ‘‘ I know you tell me once, — 
but this poor — bean, — is it not.^^ — of mine, — ” 
here she touched, laughingly, her white forehead, 
“ it was so confuse, I do not remember clear. You 
saw my poor book in your ’ouse, for the first time, 
las’ evening, — is it not so ? ” 

“ Yes. But I’d been suspecting something wrong 
for days. I couldn’t understand my mother’s re- 
fusing to call on you. She had intended to. I 
knew it wasn’t what Delphi speaks of as your 
‘ past,’ for she’d been told all about that, and be- 
sides, she poses for being rather broadminded about 
such things. Then I began to notice that the 
women who did call made a bee-line for mother after- 
wards.” 

“ Be’old the coming Arsene Lupin of Delphi,” put 
in Inez, teasingly. 

Once or twice I ran into a whispering bunch, 
and it caused such a commotion that Mother took 
to locking her visitors and herself up in the library. 
When I went to Mother and asked her up and down 
what on earth was hatching, she shut her lips to- 
gether like a thin-shelled oyster, and when I per- 
sisted, and told her that she was being influenced 
not to be decent to you, she only said, ‘ If I do not 
call upon your friend Madame de Pierrefond, you 
may be sure I have my reasons.’ ” 

‘‘ And then, las’ night — ” reminded the listener. 


SS4< THE STRANGE WOMAN 

smiling a little sadly at the boy’s mimicry of his 
parent. 

“ I had to go up to her room for something. I 
never move very slow, — as you may have noticed, — 
and before she could hide it I saw your book lying 
open on the dresser. A pencil was near it, and I 
saw that several passages were heavily marked.” 

Now I wonder just what passages? ” the author 
murmured, her mind speeding to her unfortunate 
first-born in literature. 

‘‘ Oh, you may be sure they were the most im- 
moral ones she could find ! ” 

Inez winced. No reproof, she knew, had been in- 
tended. It was the boy’s confident tone, rather than 
his words, that hurt her. She had not thought any- 
thing in the book immoral. “Then?” 

“ Of course, when I saw that,’ said Charlie, lean- 
ing back, “ I understood everything. I went for 
Mother like blazes. At first she wouldn’t talk, — 
only ordered me out of the room. I said I’d be 
damned if I went, and it gave her such a shock that 
she let out everything.” 

“ And the ‘ everything,’ ” said Inez, slowly, “ 
that I am to be denounced to the gentlest, kindest 
woman in the world, as an unfit person to be her 
son’s wife.” 

“That’s it. It don’t sound pretty, does it?” 

“ Have you gained any idea of the time when 
these pious furies expect to make an attack on Mrs. 
’Emingway ? ” 


« FREE LOVE ” 


335 


I don’t believe they’ve fixed a time. They enjoy 
the preparations too much. But, from what I know 
of them and their methods, I imagine that — ” 
He hesitated. 

“ That they will come to her while my Jean is 
away ? ” 

He nodded. They’ve always been a little afraid 
of John.” 

Inez rose suddenly. !A11 timidity was gone. She 
moved like a young tree in the wind. ‘‘ Perhaps we 
shall yet subdue these ’ippocrites and their Moral 
Crusade. Now, Sharlee — ” 

Charlie got up, but without noticeable alacrity. 
Inez saw the doubt in his face. 

Have no fear, — I shall do nothing without your 
knowledge, and your approval, too, my good friend. 
But there is a possibility that has just come to me. 
No, I cannot explain now. First of all, I must 
know whether indeed they will come this very day. 
You will find it out, even if again you must swear 
before your good mother.” She gave a charming, 
mischievous smile. ‘‘ And when you have found out, 
— run quick — queech back to me, please, an’ tell 
me. It is most important that I know before they 
have lef’ your ’ouse. You think they will start from 
there in a body, yes ? ” 

‘‘ I guess they will. Our house is evidently the 
base of operations. I’ll declare, Inez, — it makes 
me perfectly sick to think — ” 

‘‘ Never mind about getting sick ! ” said Inez, 


336 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


gaily. ‘‘ Find out when the enemy is to charge, and 
let me know.” 

She literally pushed him from the room. He 
started off a good deal puzzled, but secure in her 
promise to do nothing without first informing him. 

When he was out of sight, Inez ran, singing, 
through the hallways, until she found Mrs. Hem- 
ingway and Molly in the kitchen. Here she flut- 
tered about, asking questions, making remarks so 
quaint and unusual that both her listeners were on 
the verge of hysterics, and then declaring that she 
wanted to put on a different dress, and, perhaps 
take a short walk before dinner, went, still singing 
gaily, up the shabby stairs. 

In her room she began to pull about her various 
gowns. She was searching for one that she had not 
yet worn in Delphi. It had been designed for her 
to wear at the Longchamps races. At last it was 
on the bed, complete. As usual it was grey, but 
the contrasting tone was, this time, a pale luminous 
yellow. In the sparse embroidery was a hint of 
bronze and gold. The small toque that went with 
it, a mere cap of grey with a topaz ornament and 
a single attenuated spray of yellow feathers, was 
as chic as only the most noted of Paris master mil- 
liners could make it. 

She changed swiftly, betraying in every movement 
a subdued excitement. The toque was tentatively 
tried — and Inez could not restrain a smile of pleas- 
ure at the effect — then laid, again, on the bed. 


« FREE LOVE ” 


337 


Near it was a sort of wrap, — part scarf, part man- 
tle, made all of grey crepe, with a great ruche about 
the throat, and exquisite, pendent lines that had the 
look of mingled mist and rain. “ It is well,” said 
Inez, aloud. 

Now she went over to the window, taking a low 
rocking chair. She had no desire to look out, but 
crouched a little forward, one elbow on her knee, 
the hand supporting her chin. Here she fell into 
a sort of reverie, or rather, a deep withdrawal into 
thought, for her face was tense and her brows knit- 
ted; from which she was aroused by the tinkle of 
the silver dinner-bell. 

During the meal she was so sparklingly bright, 
that old Mrs. Hemingway could scarcely eat for 
looking at and listening to her. 

Immediately after she went into the living-room, 
going to a front window to see if, by any chance, 
Charlie should be on his way. 

The loud clatter of hoofs announced the approach 
of a spirited driver. Inez drew back, but not before 
Walter Hemingway, seated high in his new red- 
wheeled buggy, had caught sight of her and waved 
an exaggerated greeting. To her dismay he 
stopped. There was no escaping him. She sighed 
and moved restlessly. Never was a visitor less wel- 
come. 

He burst in at the door, a cyclone of geniality. 

“ So Johnny’s left you, eh? Well, it’s up to the 
rest of us to see that you don’t get lonesome ! ” She 


338 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


submitted with what grace she could muster, to the 
immense, enveloping hand-grasp. Seen in the clear 
afternoon light, the Don Juan of Delphi was even 
less attractive than, at first, she had thought him. 
He was covered, hair, hands, face, boots, even in his 
garments, with a thinly-spread sheen, as of grease. 
Also, — but was this partly her fancy — his bold 
eyes were more searching, and less veiled with con- 
ventional respect. 

‘‘ Say,” he broke out abruptly. “ How does a 
ride in my new buggy strike you ? ” 

He had placed himself directly in front of her, 
his feet wide apart, and was looking down steadily, 
with an unpleasantly familiar grin on his highly- 
coloured face. 

“Your buggee.^” she echoed. “I do not onder- 
stan’ — Ah, pardon, but I am stupid. The vehicle 
out there,” she nodded toward the window, “ is, I 
believe, called the buggee. It is a very gay buggee.” 

“ There’s a cracker-jack of a road along the 
river. Quiet as a church this time of day. Come 
on.” 

Were her senses leaving her, or did the man actu- 
ally attempt a knowing wink.?^ In any case, her only 
course was to ignore it. 

“ I thank you, kind uncle of my Jean,” she an- 
swered, forcing a chilly smile, “ but I do not see 
why you should suppose I would care to go along 
a road where there are no other persons.” 

“ Aw, cut it ! ” he exclaimed, laughing in apparent 


“ FREE LOVE ” 3S9 

delight. “You needn’t put on any of those frills 
with me. I’m safe.” 

“ I am glad to hear that you are safe,” said Inez^ 
opening her eyes still wider. “ I would be triste 
to think that the Oncle — ” 

“ Can that Uncle business, will you? ” he inter- 
rupted rudely, though the wide grin did not lessen. 
“We’ll forget John, too, — just while he’s gone. 
When the cat’s away, you know.” 

Yes, it was insult, — deliberate, calculated insult. 
Inez’ heart sickened, but externally she remained 
ignorant and composed. 

“ I am sure that you mean to be kind,” she re- 
plied to him, choosing and pronouncing her words 
with care, “ but I cannot accept your invita- 
tion.” 

“ Previous engagement, eh ? ” he queried, with an 
intonation that she did not relish. 

“ As it happens, — yes. I am expecting a 
friend.” 

“ It must be that young snipe Charlie Abbey. 
He’s the only — Oh, rats! He don’t count any- 
way. He’s a waster. Gone all to the bad.” 

“ How can you say so ? ” flared Inez. “ He is not 
bad. He is a clean, nice boy.” 

“ So you defend the cub! Well, now, you’ve got 
to come with me. I owe it to John to break up this 
little party.” 

“ Take your hand from my arm — instantly — 
do you hear,” said Inez, in a tone so low and dan- 


340 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


gerous that, before realising it, he had obeyed. 

At last his leering smile was gone. A dull purple 
mottled his face. 

“ There’s no use keeping up this bluff,” he said. 
“ Do you know how I spent last night? ” 

“ No, — and I do not wish to hear.” 

“ Oh, yes, you do ! I sat up reading that little 
book of yours.” 

He paused, his expression that of an archer who 
has just pierced the centre of his target. Inez, her 
attention arrested, stared at him. As his meaning 
dawned on her she threw back her head, and with 
all the scorn of which her wonderful voice was capable 
said to him : ‘‘ The real meaning of my book would 

be utterly impossible of comprehension to a mind 
like yours.” 

“ Don’t try to flatter me,” he grinned, the anger 
of his face disappearing before other and more 
nauseous traits. “ I may live in Delphi, but little 
Walter knows as well as any other man that the 
world is round.” 

“ Oh, — oh, — ” gasped Inez, looking from side to 
side for escape. 

‘‘ Be a sport now,” he urged, again seizing her. 
“ John will never know.” 

“ Mr. Hemingway,” said the woman, her great 
eyes blazing full on him, ‘‘ you must stop these in- 
sults, or I shall have to throw myself upon the pro- 
tection of your wife.” 

‘‘My wife, eh? — my wife!"* roared Walter, as 


« FREE LOVE ” 


341 


if at some specially good joke. “Why, Clary, — 
she’s read it too! ” 

He still held her arm. Inez, dizzy and stunned 
by all that his last words suggested did not, for the 
moment, realise his touch. 

“ You foul and unclean beast,” she whispered — 
but her lips trembled so violently that she could not 
be sure he heard. “ You — ” 

“ Free-love ! That’s a great doctrine, ain’t it, 
kid? ” she heard the thick lips murmur, and in an- 
other instant his arms held her in a dreadful grip, 
the flushed face was bent down, seeking hers. She 
struggled silently. From the back of the house came 
the low buzz of the front door’s electric bell. 

“ Are you entirely mad ! ” panted Inez, terror giv- 
ing her new strength with which to keep him at bay. 
“ Some one is coming ! ” 

“Great bluffer, — ain’t you, kid?” he chuckled 
thickly, and again the odious arms encircled her. 

The door of the living-room flew open, and on the 
threshold stood May Armstrong. Fortunately 
Molly, after admitting the visitor, had sped back to 
the kitchen to rescue a threatened cake. 

“ Pardon me! ” said May, clearly. “ I didn’t 
dream I was running into anything like this. Guess 
I’ll butt out again.” 

She wheeled to go, but Inez, overtaking her, cried 
out hysterically. “ No — no — I thank God you 
have come! Do not leave me, — I entreat you. It 
was a mistake.” 


S42 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Such things generally are,” retorted the woman 
with a coarse laugh. “ Especially when you’re 
caught with the goods.” 

“You must not leave, — I say you must not 
leave — ” implored Inez, seizing one of the plump 
white-gloved hands in both her own, and literally 
dragging May toward her. “ It has been too ter- 
rible!—” 

May suddenly flung off the clinging hands, and 
facing the man, said between her teeth, “ Well, and 
what is ^our version, Walter Hemingway? ” 

There was not only anger in her voice, but such 
authority, such certainty of her right to demand, 
that Inez turned to see how it would be taken. 

To her amazement, the man’s whole figure had 
undergone a swift transformation. The great shoul- 
ders bent together. His eyes, downcast, followed 
the nervous movement of a heavily-shod foot, drag- 
ging sidewise, back and forf:h upon the carpet. No 
schoolboy, caught red-handed, was ever more pal- 
pably delinquent. 

All at once, with a nauseating pang of insight, 
Inez understood. 

“Well?” reiterated Mrs. Armstrong, on a higher 
key, “ I’m waiting.” 

“ Now, don’t you get huffy. May,” stammered the 
man, and sent her a sheepish, conciliatory look from 
under his heavy brows. “It was only a joke — 
honest. I read her fool book last night, and I just 
took a notion to find out for myself — ” 


« FREE LOVE ” 


343 

He broke off, with a foolish laugh. 

‘‘ Whether she carried her Free-love theories into 
practice?” 

“ Something like that. It was only a joke, May.” 

“Don’t you think that particular brand of joke 
is up to your nephew?” she asked, but with less 
acerbity. 

“As for you,” she burst out, flinging herself 
around to Inez, her face one blaze of jealous fury, 
“ I came here to do you a good turn, — to put you 
wise before it was too late. Now the old cats may 
claw you to a fare-ye-well, for all I care.” 

“ Go ! — only go. Both of you dreadful — dread- 
ful people. I wonder that you dare come into a 
house like this,” said Inez, covering her eyes with 
both hands. 

She heard May Armstrong gasp. When she 
spoke it was to Walter. Astonishment had sobered 
her voice to an unusual quiet. “ Well, what do you 
know about that? ” she queried, blankly. “ And 
she been living openly with John Hemingway for 
three years ! ” 

“ She’s not goin’ to do it much longer. Not in 
this town,” declared Walter, leading his companion 
toward the door. 

“ Of course she led you on,” was May’s last com- 
ment. 

When Inez, sick and trembling, looked up again, 
she saw them moving slowly down the walk, their 
bodies very close. Holding May tenderly by the 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


SU 

arm with his left hand, Walter was using his right 
to make emphatic gestures of explanation. 

So engrossed they were that, at the gate, they 
narrowly escaped collision with Charlie Abbey. 

‘‘ Hi, Charlie. You seem in a hurry ! ” shouted 
Walter, as he drew back. Needn’t run. She’s 

waitin’ ! ” The loud voice and louder laugh were 

evidently meant to be overheard. 

Inez rushed to the door. ‘‘ Good Lord, what’s 
the matter with those two.^ — ” Charlie began ex- 
citedly. 

‘‘Never min’ those two. They are swines of the 
gutter. What is your news ? ” 

“ The whole bunch is in the library now. I lis- 
tened at the door, — yes, I did. I don’t care a hang 

if it was low. They are getting ready to start.” 

“Around here, — to Mrs. ’Emingway?” 

“ Of course.” 

“ Go into that living-room, Charlie, — an’ don’t 
move till I come back.” 

“ What on earth ? — ” the boy wondered, but he 
spoke to flying heels. Already Inez was half way 
up the stairs. 

“Now!” she cried, whirling down again before 
he had fairly caught his breath. “ The one great 
question is, — ” 

“ Where do you think you’re going, — with your 
hat and cape ? ” 

“ Straight to your mother’s house, and face them 
all.” 


« FREE LOVE ” 


345 


The boy started and blinked as if a charge of 
dynamite had just exploded. ‘‘Are you crazy?” 

“No, — but a few others soon will be. It is the 
onlee thing for me to do, Sharlee. I do not fear 
them, — no ! An’ the one question, — which before I 
started, — is — ’ave you the courage to go to dat 
’ouse wid me ? ” 

An instant longer he stared, then his face cleared. 
“ Of all the plucky — ” he half whispered, and after- 
ward, with grim determination, “ Come” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


AT BAY 

Behind the massive, carved, pseudo-Italian table 
that dominated her library, sat little Mrs. Abbey, 
rigidly enthroned. 

A cushion had been placed beneath in order 
that she might be given the appearance of more 
inches than those granted by nature. In front of 
her, ranged in a thick, irregular semicircle upon a 
medley of chairs brought indiscriminately from din- 
ing-room, bedrooms, hall, and, in one instance 
(Henry McMaster was, at the moment, squirming 
on the instance) from the kitchen, sat a company of 
about fifteen people, the gentler sex predominating 
largely. 

Most of the books in this celebrated library — 
often referred to as the ‘‘ Pride of Delphi ” — were 
in sets. In long, unbroken rectangles they shone 
out, olive and red and blue, with here and there the 
softening of a more neutral grey, each book as im- 
maculate as if it had come, that instant, from the 
binder’s press. 

The wall-space left between the “ sectional ” book- 
shelves was crowded with neatly framed Braun pho- 
tographs of European masterpieces. These were 
all of the same subject, the smiling young Madonna 
346 


AT BAY 


3^ 


and the Child. Mrs. Abbey spoke fondly of them 
as her ‘‘ Collection of Virgins,” and, Bostonian 
though she was, admitted to something resembling 
plebeian pride in them. 

Besides the women whose long friendship with 
Emma Hemingway, or kinship, either with her or 
with John’s father, warranted participation in so 
serious a convention, there were present the Rever- 
end Mr. Todd, “ Elder ” Droppers and, in a far 
corner, penned in by his wife’s uncompromising bulk, 
the scared and rabbit-like countenance of Henry Mc- 
Master. 

Mrs. Abbey cleared her throat slightly. It was 
the signal that she was about to resume an harangue 
just interrupted by her own overwrought sensibili- 
ties. The ladies all stirred, fixing expectant eyes 
upon their leader. 

“ As I said,” she began — her voice low and pre- 
cise, indicating the return of her self-control — “ there 
is no need for me to repeat how inexpressively pain- 
ful we all feel this necessity to be — ” 

She paused again. Murmurs of sympathetic ap- 
proval swept round the shell of the temporary si- 
lence. 

‘‘ But, friends, — it is our dutyP The noble word 
rang clear. ‘‘ And in the thirty years of my resi- 
dence among you, I have never yet known the wives 
and mothers of Delphi to shirk a duty! ” 

“ Hear ! Hear ! ” boomed the ecclesiastical tones 
of the Reverend Mr. Todd. 


348 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ Hear! Hear I ” shrilled the excited ladies. 

Say ‘ Hear ! Hear I ’ Henry,” commanded Mrs. 
McMaster, giving her husband an indignant nudge. 

Here, here,” faltered Henry, shrinking before 
the eyes he felt would be turned upon him. To him- 
self he added wretchedly, ‘‘ But I wish to gosh I 
wasn’t.” 

Mrs. Abbey now rose majestically to her feet. 
There was a wooden stool beneath them. 

“We are unanimous, then, in our resolution to 
band ourselves together, and, so far as it is within 
our power, to expel, from our midst, the evil influence 
which has so unexpectedly confronted us?” 

“ Yes, — indeed! ” piped Cora Whitman, barely 
saving herself from the nervous little giggle that had 
become habitual. 

“ What gets me/’ remarked Kate McMaster, “ is 
the nerve of the woman in coming here at all.” 
Then, mindful of her dignity as Leader of a Cause 
for Women, she added, sharply, “Not that John 
Hemingway isn’t just as bad, bringin’ her.” 

“ No, — no,” protested Cora. “ You can’t judge 
men by the same standards.” 

Erom a little distance where she had been seated, 
occupied as usual with needle work, came Clara 
Hemingway’s flat, vibrating voice, 

“ If you did,” she corroborated, “ there wouldn’t 
be room in Delphi for all the indignation meetin’s.” 

For some inexplicable reason Kate McMaster 
flushed. After a moment of restless indecision, she 


AT BAY 


349 


cried out: “Well, that’s neither here nor there. 
Let’s keep to business. We’re all agreed that John’s 
got to be saved if we can save him, and there ain’t 
any time to lose. Mrs. Abbey has suggested that 
we put the facts before John’s mother,” 

“ There seems no other way,” said Mrs. Abbey, sor- 
rowfully. ‘^As usual, it is the mother’s heart that 
must be crushed.” She sent a lingering, appealing 
glance along the wall of smiling Madonnas, claiming, 
as it were with them, a spiritual identity. 

“ It seems right hard on Emma ; and John her only 
one,” commented Clara, as she held up a needle to 
thread it against the nearest window light ; “ but I 
guess it’s about like Mrs. Abbey says; it’s the only 
way to reach him.” 

“ But, dear Mrs. Abbey,” parleyed Cora Whitman, 
her thin face eager, “ but suppose even then he re- 
fuses to believe. You know how men are ! ” 

Several of the elder women exchanged, behind 
the ardent speaker’s back, glances of pity, not un- 
tinged with scorn. Their eyes said to each other, 
“ Poor, faded thing. I wonder if she thinks she 
may land him, after all ? ” 

“ Well, well,” remarked Mr. Todd, impressively, 
“ it has been discussed and agreed, I believe, that 
the mother of this misguided young man is to be the 
lever which, as we all prayerfully hope, is to turn 
him from darkness back to light. The only remain- 
ing question is when and how the unfortunate lady 
is to be approached.” 


a50 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Under cover of the pause of admiration following 
this ornate speech, Cora, who was an Episcopalian, 
leaned confidentially toward Aunt Clara to observe, 
‘‘ Hasn’t Mr. Todd a wonderful gift of words ? ” 

“ He can talk,” admitted that downright person, 
“but I have heard our Mr. Meigs pray for twenty 
minutes and never call the Lord by the same name 
twice.” 

The low, nasal voice was uncompromisingly audi- 
ble. Mrs. Abbey looked annoyed. The Reverend 
Mr. Todd’s Adam’s apple could be seen to work 
violently over the top of his starched clerical col- 
lar. 

“ You said you were going to take a copy of her 
book along,” reminded Kate McMaster, with un- 
necessary abruptness, and nodded first to Mrs. 
Abbey, and then toward the condemned book, lying. 
Exhibit A, for the prosecution, in plain sight on the 
table. 

“ I feel it to be necessary,” said Mrs. Abbe}^^, with 
a resigned sigh. 

“ Nothin’ like seein’ things in black and white,” 
put in Elder Droppers, at which his wdfe, and sev- 
eral other ladies besides, turned to give him com- 
mendatory glances. 

“ Then,” cried Mrs. McMaster, “ let’s go now and 
get it over.” She sprang up, her voice a trumpet 
call to arms. 

Several rose. Others looked anxiously toward 
their elected leader, or else, toward the still flushed 


AT BAY 


351 


Mr. Todd. On both of these faces could be seen 
strong disapproval of Mrs. McMaster’s sudden as- 
sumption of authority. The situation threatened to 
become intense, when all at once, the sound of hurry- 
ing footsteps without, followed by a loud masterful 
knock on the door, caused all else to be forgotten in 
a new and common consternation. 

“ Is the door locked? ” gasped Mrs. Abbey. 

“ It is,” asseverated Mr. Todd, and rose with slow 
dignity. 

‘‘ One of ’em’s Walter,” remarked Clara Heming- 
way without looking up. 

‘‘ But the other? ” panted Cora Whitman. 

She wouldn’t dare ! It can't be,” came from 
various feminine lips. 

Here ! What do you think you’re doin’ in there 
anyway? ” came Walter’s excited voice. 

“Who’s with you, Walter?” questioned his wife, 
— not very clearly, for she was biting off a thread, 
but Walter heard. 

“ May Armstrong. Who’d you think ! ” Here 
came a hoarse angry laugh. “ Not her. She’s 
fixed. We’ve just come from there.” 

“ Oh. Open it quick! ” vibrated Cora. 

As the key was turned Walter flung wide the door 
so violently that the reverend gentleman who had 
performed the service was nearly thrown upon his 
broadcloth back. May Armstrong pushed by them 
both, and stood still, surveying the room like a con- 
queror. 


^52 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ Well ! ” she exploded. “ Fve seen with my own 
eyes ! That woman’s bad as you make ’em ! ” 

“What did you see? Tell us. We ought to 
know,” came in a shrill chorus. 

May opened her lips, shut them tightly, and sent 
a long, slow, meaning glance in the direction of Aunt 
Clara. That sphinx-like person had started a new 
hem. She had shown no excitement as the newcomers 
made their dramatic entrance. Not once had her 
small, inscrutable eyes been lifted. 

“ Oh, don’t mind me,” she now said, her voice un- 
emotional, unmodulated, and quite as usual. “ I 
know a great deal more about my husband than folks 
think I know.” 

At this a gasp went round. Mrs. Abbey rapped 
sharply on the table. 

“ At least, Mrs. Armstrong,” she declaimed aus- 
terely, for it was common property that May was 
not persona grata in those Madonna hung walls, 
“ give us as — er — as — guardedly as you can, 
some idea of your grounds for this new accusa- 
tion.” 

“ Well,” began May. She seldom started a sen- 
tence without this introductory exclamation. “ Since 
Mrs. Hemingway is wise already — ” 

“Here!” broke in Walter. “Let me talk.” He 
pushed her aside with no gentle hand, adding, with 
an attempt at jocosity, “When a bunch o’ you 
wimmin-folks get together — ” 

“ It is, indeed, more suitable that you should 


AT BAY 353 

speak, Mr. Hemingway,” agreed the Lady Chair- 
man. 

‘‘ Hear ! Hear ! ” gave forth, respectively, the 
Reverend Mr. Todd, and Elder Droppers. 

May, with a large, fat shrug, sat down in the near- 
est chair. 

It all came out of my readin’ that book o’ hers,” 
said Walter, looking round upon the interested faces. 
“ I had never seen the thing until last night. Clara 
made me read it.” 

‘‘ Kate made volunteered Henry from the kit- 
chen chair, but no one noticed him. 

“And it’s some book! Believe me!” he ejacu- 
lated, rubbing the back of his neck with a gesture he 
felt to be both arch and humorous. “ I couldn’t 
help thinkin’ it over. I guess the rest of you have 
been in pretty much the same fix.” 

Subdued murmurs of acquiescence brought to his 
lips a pleased smile. 

“ And, this mornin’, when I heard of John’s 
bein’ out o’ town, it come to me all of a sudden 
that it wouldn’t be a bad stunt to go around there 
— ■ with my buggy — and see for myself whether 
any woman would be gam — be fool enough, I 
mean, to live up to the sort of dope she handed out 
in writin’.” 

“ I don’t see why you had to take your buggy 
snapped Kate McMaster. 

Mrs. Abbey’s face had grown severe. “ My dear 
Mr. Hemingway,” she protested, clipping her words 


S54 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


like separate bits of wire. “ Surely you did not in- 
tend to use the term ‘ live up to ’ ! Rather, you 
should have said, ‘ sink down to.’ ” 

‘‘ The drinks are on me ! ” grinned Walter, waving 
a concessive hand. 

‘‘ Oh, don't interrupt him ! ” put in Cora, fever- 
ishly. 

“ I went/* said Walter, in a deep, resounding 
voice, and closed his thick lips tightly, letting the si- 
lence speak. One could hear, almost, the heartbeats 
of his audience. 

‘‘Well — well? Go on. Don’t stop,” came at 
last from various parted lips. 

Walter allowed his countenance to assume an ex- 
pression of mournful regret. “It’s jest as May 
says. She’s bad as you make ’em.” 

“ But that’s not telling anything,” persisted Cora. 
“ What happened? What did you see? ” 

Her small eyes, darting like shuttles about the 
room, finally imbedded themselves in the amused ones 
of Mrs. Armstrong. 

“ My child,” said May impressively, speaking 
from her height of superior worldliness. “ The real 
question to ask is what would have happened if I 
hadn’t blown in when I did.” 

“ Say, May ! ” bellowed Walter, in huge delight. 
“ Never mind about makin’ things out worse than 
they are.” 

“ Oh, — Oh! ” Cora had faltered, cowering down 
in her chair. While yet the virginal unit flushed, 


AT BAY 


355 


paled and palpitated in the wake of May’s more than 
suggestive comment, that buoyant person, turning 
her back, leaned to a group of matrons. 

Of course I don’t set up for one of your timid 
ingenues” (she pronounced the word “ inge-jee- 
nooze”), she confided, quite superfluously. “But 
the minute I set foot in that room, the situation 
was as plain, — well, as plain as the nose on my 
face.” 

Mrs. Walter Hemingway paused, for the first 
time, in her sewing. She raised her eyes to let them 
rest, with calm deliberation, on May’s somewhat 
thick-set nose. It was obvious that the scrutiny 
brought satisfaction. 

Since her abortive attempt at domination, Mrs. 
McMaster had not resumed her chair. Her large 
face, under its thatch of untidy clay-coloured hair, 
had been growing steadily larger and more intense 
of hue. It had now acquired blotches of angry 
purple. 

“Ain’t we wastin’ a whole lot of time in talk?” 
she now challenged. “ What I want to ask Walter, 
is, — is Emma Hemingway at home? ” 

“ Is she ever anywhere else ? ” remarked May, flip- 
pantly. 

Kate ignored her, keeping her belligerent eyes on 
Walter. “ And, I suppose,” she went on, “ that if 
you’ve jest come from that de Pierrefond woman, 
she’s downstairs, and not in bed, as she generally 
is, mornin’s.” 


356 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


“ Let’s hope she’s not,” said May, with an at- 
tempted drawl. Charlie Abbey’s with her.” 

Mrs. Abbey struck the table so sharply that most 
of the women jumped. 

“As Mrs. McMaster has just remarked, we’re 
wasting time that might be better spent. I move 
that we adjourn, going at once to Mrs, Heming- 
way.” 

Aunt Clara began to fold up her sewing. “ Sup- 
pose when we get there,” she suggested, “ /-nez in- 
sists on bein’ in the room? ” 

At this, several of the excited faces showed a hint 
of doubt. Strangely enough, it was upon the mascu- 
line countenance of Walter Hemingway, that con- 
sternation found its most noticeable resting place. 
He opened his mouth for a protest. Clara, now 
standing by his side, cleared her throat, and he was 
silent. 

“ Let her be present then ! ” cried Mrs. Abbey, 
after a moment of conflicting thoughts. “ Let her, 
if she wishes, drag in my son to witness her humilia- 
tion. Perhaps it will be as well for Charles to real- 
ise that his mother, at least, is striving to uphold 
the dignity and morality of his native town.” 

“ Excellent. iJ^-cellent ! ” carolled the Reverend 
Mr. Todd. 

Elder Droppers began unfolding his long legs. 
Henry McMaster, in his corner, alternately stood and 
sat in an agony of indecision until his wife, reaching 
out, snatched him to her elbow. 


AT BAY 


357 


Now Mrs. Abbey descended from her footstool. 
Her eyes were downcast, her face pale under the 
spiritual pressure of her Cause for Righteousness. 
With the faintest quiver of repugnance, she leaned 
over to take up the anathematised book. 

Permit mCy dear lady,” murmured Mr. Todd in 
her ear, and unflinchingly gathered the Thing of 
Evil into his own fat hands. It was a delicate com- 
pliment, and Mrs. Abbey gave him, for reward, a 
particularly cordial, if slightly tremulous, smile. 

He stepped aside, that she might precede him. In- 
stinctively the standing company fell back, making 
a clear passage to the door. The Reverend Mr. 
Todd offered a large and flabby arm. The little 
lady took it gratefully, while the eyes of the neglected 
Mrs. Todd moistened with pride, and a sort of chas- 
tened humility, that she should have been found 
worthy to be the wife of such a man. 

Walter stepped forward, unlocked the door again, 
and closed his red fingers tentatively around the 
handle. Mrs. Abbey nodded, and he flung the panel 
wide. On the threshold, a vision of delicate, feminine 
loveliness, stood Inez de Pierrefond. 

Without speech she walked past them all to the 
centre of the room, wheeled around slowly, and faced 
them. Charlie Abbey, his blond head high, his cheeks 
on fire, followed her closely, and, as she tunied, stood 
by her. 

Mrs. Abbey was the first to regain the power of 
speech. “ To what am I indebt — ” 


358 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


‘‘ Kindly refrain from platitudes, or any stereo- 
typed remarks,” said Inez, interrupting. I am 
making you no social visit, as all are well aware.” 

How dare you intrude into my private house ! ” 
cried Mrs. Abbey, in a shrill voice pitched by no 
Boston tuning-fork. 

‘‘How dare you intrude into my private life.?^” 
asked Inez, not by way of retort, but putting the 
question sadly. 

There was an interval of silence. All the women 
looked at one another. 

“ This whole town thinks a heap of Emma Hem- 
ingway,” came in a grating echo, from Aunt Clara’s 
lips. 

“ So ? ” said Inez, looking squarely into the in- 
scrutable eyes. “ And to prove it, you will try to 
break her kind and gentle heart ? ” 

“ Nobody wants to hurt Emma,'' asserted Kate 
McMaster. “ But I might as well tell you right out 
to your face, that John Hemingway’s friends intend 
to save him.” 

“‘To save him ! ’ ’Ow very interesting ! ” She 
paused to take in, more securely, a fact which ap- 
peared so novel. “ And pairhaps,” she added, with 
an amused glance in the direction of the uneasy Wal- 
ter, “ it was in the speerit of self-sacrifice that, re- 
cently, the Oncle Walter of my Jean has made of 
himself a vulgar fool.” 

The man, turning aside his head, muttered an 
oath. 


AT BAY 


359 


‘‘ You needn’t swear about it, Walter,” remarked 
Aunt Clara. “ The barn is the place for that.” 

May, on his other side, gave a fierce dig into his 
heaving ribs. “ Why don’t you up and tell her it 
was? ” 

Don Juan, thus emboldened, made a single stride 
into the arena. Well, Madam, since you ask for 
it, — that was exactly my reason, — to find out for 
my nephew’s sake whether you were as bad as your 
book!” 

“ Your disappointment must ’ave been severe,” 
smiled Inez. 

You needn’t try to brazen it out, — you — 
you — ” choked the man, his veins standing out with 
fury. “ You know well enough what I found out. 
May Armstrong here’s a witness.” 

“ Bravo ! ” cried Inez. “ The Big Chief at last 
finds courage ! And why not indeed ? ” she quer- 
ied, with a slight shrug and a pretty gesture of ap- 
peal, wid so manee of his squaws behin’ him.^ ” 

Deliberately, insultingly, she raised her monocle, 
holding it daintily by its jewelled stem, and let her 
scornful eyes rest, for an instant, on May’s crimson 
face, passing to that of Kate McMaster, and, last 
of all, to Clara. The latter alone, showed no con- 
cern. 

I wouldn’t say things like that if I was you, 
I-nez,” she observed, without emotion. 

Inez could not withhold a flash of admiration. Al- 
most she nodded acquiescence. 


360 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


I’d have you know that John Hemingway’s fam- 
ily is the oldest in Kishwaukee County ! ” now bel- 
lowed Walter, with less relevance than vigour, 

“ Is it so ? ” cried Inez, pretending to be overcome. 

And the poor familee of me, — being only of direct 
descent from Bourbon royalty — Ah, — the mesal- 
liance, ’’ she sighed. 

And your German husband ! I guess he was 
descended from royalty, too,” sneered Kate McMas- 
ter. 

“ Alas ! ” said Inez, plaintively. “ My ’usband 
was noble but only in his name. The morals of him, 
— they were much like those I ’ave observed in Del- 
phi. Therefore I left him.” 

Now Cora Whitman spoke. We know all about 
that part of your life. We’ve been told as a fact, — 
so it’s useless for you to attempt to deny it, that 
you simply put on your hat and walked out of your 
husband’s house.” 

“ Would it ’ave pleased you better if I had not 
worn a hat ? ” suggested Inez, innocently, as she 
turned her monocle on Cora. While the assailant 
fumed and fidgeted, striving in vain to find an ade- 
quate retort, Inez asked pleasantly, You would not 
’ave left him, no ? ” 

The insult was so poignant, so subtle, that Cora 
went white. Her ashen lips stammered inarticulate 
nothings, and finally she turned despairing eyes to 
Mrs. Abbey. The appeal stung that small person 
to a renewed attack. 


AT BAY 361 

“ Leave my house, woman,” she commanded, step- 
ping directly in front of Inez. 

“ Mother ! ” cried Charlie, at that. 

Don’t you dare speak to me ! ” now cried his 
mother, her face distorted with rage. ‘‘ How you 
have dared to bring a person like this into my house 1 
All of your life you have been a disappointment. 
This is the last straw. I have done with you ! ” 

“ And still the Madonnas smile,” murmured Inez, 
looking round upon the pictured walls. 

“ Inez,” the boy cried, brokenly, ‘‘ can even your 
generosity and friendship pardon me this?” 

Inez turned to flash him a reassuring smile. 
‘‘ Now, Sharlee,” she said, caressingly, ‘‘ do not you 
worry about me. As you used to say in Paris, — I 
am ‘ ’aving de time of my yong life ’ ! I do not fear 
dese shadows. Already I hold dem, — so.” One 
slim, ungloved hand was outstretched, palm upward. 
She clenched the fingers, then opened them disdain- 
fully, as if releasing winged vermin. 

“ Well, here’s one you don’t hold like that, my 
lady ! ” shouted May Armstrong. ‘‘ I’m going.” 

She made a rush for the door. Most of the 
women rushed with her ; then, as suddenly, all 
stopped. The brief stampede had the absurdity of 
fowls in a barnyard. Inez made not the slightest 
effort to restrain them. 

‘‘ Yes, we had better go,” chattered Mrs. Abbey, 
between her teeth. ‘‘ This is no place for ladies. 
We will go at once to Mrs. Hemingway.” 




THE STRANGE WOMAN 


Again they started, and again stood still. 

“You weel not go, — not one step weel you go to 
the mother of my Jean,” came the low, tense voice 
of Inez. 

“Oh, won’t we!” ejaculated Walter, essaying a 
defiant laugh, “ who’s goin’ to stop us ? ” 

“ Not one leetle step weel you go,” repeated Inez, 
inflexibly, “ until you ’ave heard, from me, de pen- 
alty.” 

“ Penalty! You threaten us.? ” shrilled Mrs. Ab- 
bey. 

The Reverend Mr. Todd, looking very nervous, 
leaned down to her, whispering. She answered 
quickly in the same tone, at which the reverend gen- 
tleman stepped forth. He got no further than an 
impressive clearing of his throat, when Inez’ fine 
smile checked him. 

“ Ah, small, fat one,” she commented, cheerfully, 
“ so now de Church is to intervene I ” 

“ Madam ! ” he vociferated, indignantly, “ this ex- 
cellent lady, my hostess, gives you this last oppor- 
tunity for a dignified retirement. Will you or will 
you not, remove from this house, the contamination 
of your presence 

Inez bowed gravely. “ You may say to that ex- 
cellent lady,” she returned, “ that de contamination 
of my presence will be remove when I ’ave said what 
I came to say, and not before. Also,” she added, 
as her interlocutor seemed to be threatened with 
apoplexy, “ you may say to that excellent lady that. 


AT BAY 


S6S 


at the moment, this ’ouse cannot be regarded as a 
private ’ome. It is a Council of Witches, direct 
from her Salem of two ’undred years ago.” 

May Armstrong flung round to the white and star- 
ing faces. Her low cry was a snarl. ‘‘ What is the 
matter with you, — idiots! — that you stand here 
listening. Why don’t you turn your backs, and 
get out.?* ” 

Exactlee what is de matter wid you, Mrs. Arm- 
strong,” replied Inez, her voice clear, sharp and cold, 
like hail. “ De consciousness of ’ipocrisy and guilt.” 

‘‘Walter!” May cried, hysterically, now quite 
beside herself. “Did you hear that.^ Are you 
goin’ to stand for it? ” 

“ Scarcely could de man defend his mistress before 
his wife,” observed Madame de Pierrefond. Even 
Charlie gasped. 

“ The woman is mad! ” now broke out Mrs. Abbey. 
“ This accounts for everything. As for her threats, 
— what can so depraved and unfortunate a creature 
do to a sober, decent. God-fearing community like 
ours? ” 

“ Nothing ! ” cried Inez, quickly, “ if, indeed, you 
were decent and God-fearing. But since you are one 
mass of festering, and hardly hidden rottenness — ” 
She came to a deliberate pause, knowing, at last, she 
had her audience secure. 

“ You’ll get nothing by tryin’ to blackmail ! ” 
raged Walter, striking out blindly against her tone. 

Apparently she did not hear him. “ I am a writer. 


364 ^ 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


as you know,” she stated, clearly. It is because 
of my book, which the Reverend Mr. Todd still holds 
so tenderly,” — here came the loud detonation of a 
book hurled to the floor — “ that you ’ave planned 
this cowardly attack. Whatever you may think in 
your cramped and narrow minds of my opinions, the 
more intelligent among you will not deny that they 
are vigorously set forth.” 

There came another pause, one so packed-down 
and tense with silence that the wheels of a vehicle far 
down the street seemed to pass across shivering nerves. 

“ Only this morning,” the speaker went on, “ I 
’ave received from a great newspaper syndicate, the 
request that I write up Western types.” 

“ I told you blackmail was her game,” panted Wal- 
ter, excitedly. 

She flung him a contemptuous smile. 

“ I ’ave not yet consented, — but should I do so, 
the articles are to appear simultaneously in London, 
Paris, New York, Chicago, and many smaller towns. 
It may even be,” she shrugged, with her first hint 
of malice, ‘‘ that the Delphi Oracle weel subscribe.” 

‘‘ This is intolerable! ” faltered Mrs. Abbey and 
sank down, half fainting, into a chair. “ Can no 
one stop her. P Charles!” 

‘‘ I’m sorry. Mother,” replied the boy, gravely. 

But you’ve brought it on yourselves.” 

‘‘ Fortunately we have a law protecting us from 
blackmailers, and Free Love as well,” put in Mr. 
Todd, in a sepulchral voice. 


AT BAY 


365 


I care little for the names of things,” retorted 
Inez. ‘‘ It is always de realities I seek. An’ I say 
to you, — all of you, that if one member of this con- 
spiracy,” — her eyes, suddenly taking fire, swept 
round them like a searchlight — if even one — that 
Meeses Abbey whose soul is a shrivelled lemon, and 
whose maternal milk long since has soured to gall, — 
or that low bully, Walter ’Emingway, a beast of 
sensuality, unfaithful alike to ’is wife and to his 
paramours, — or sharp-tongued Mrs. McMaster, 
Leader in Woman’s Cause, wid her po’ ’en-peck ’us- 
band de laughing stock of town, — or dat pale, blink- 
ing, old-yong thing dat I recognise as Cora Whitman, 
or de fat parson, or long, thin Elder Droppings, — 
if any or OTie of you ” — she had scorched each in 
turn — dare cross de doorsill of de one sweet, gen- 
tle, hones’ soul among you to do her hurt, — den 
weel I write such letters to dat syndicate, sparing 
no names, — yielding no mercy, — dat Delphi an’ its 
self-righteous ’ipocrites weel go down in literature as 
de type of provincial village hid from God’s sun- 
light by the fumes of its own depravity. And now,” 
she concluded, with the hauteur of a young Empress 
dismissing a band of unruly servants, “ it is what I 
came to say.” 

She threw her head back proudly, caught the 
diaphanous grey draperies more closely about her 
throat and, with a gesture to Charlie asking him not 
to follow, walked, in dead silence, to the door, and 
out of it. 


CHAPTER XXVII 
SACKCLOTH — WITH A SILVER LINING 

Once in the open street, beyond the range of curi- 
ous, hostile eyes that might be following, the proud 
head, with its chic grey cap and jaunty feather, 
suddenly went down. The overwrought nerves, held 
for so long in mastery, claimed their reaction. 

Sobs fought in the long, white throat, and her 
eyes stung with tears that must not yet be shed. 
There was one more fortress to be taken. 

No time had been given her to plan this final at- 
tack. At least there would be no further need of 
scorn and invective, weapons which seared her even 
while they brought ignominious victory. To fight 
the devil with fire would have been clean compared 
with it. But these canaille of a Western village — 
here her flexible lips curled with bitterness — had 
forced her to stoop for mud and offal. She threw 
both hands out to the air, as if hoping to fling off 
clinging soil. She felt herself debased — contami- 
nated. The sense of superiority, inherent though it 
was, counted for little in this hour of deep humilia- 
tion. One knows oneself superior to a scorpion or 
a skunk, and yet the power of those unclean beasts 
to lacerate and to envenom is none the less secure. 

Suddenly she laughed. It was not a pleasant 
366 


A SILVER LINING 


367 


laugh, either to see or to hear. How yellow they 
all had looked ! How white the staring eyes I And 
Charlie Abbey had actually thought it possible that 
she would bend the knee to such as these ! Her anger 
blazed anew. She felt the flesh upon her cheek- 
bones tighten, and tingle sharply, as if assailed by 
tiny electric sparks. Not even to old Mrs. Hem- 
ingway would she cringe. The facts should be 
stated plainly, — that was all. What effect the dis- 
closures would produce, why, that was no affair of 
Inez de Pierrefond. 

In her engrossing indignation even her love for 
John seemed to have disappeared. He and his com- 
monplace old mother were alike, part and parcel of 
Delphi, and, in her present mood, this spirited young 
woman had, for sole desire, the intention to put as 
much of the world as possible between herself and 
Delphi, and that, at once. She was already plan- 
ning to take the next train to New York, when the 
old Hemingway homestead came into view. She 
paused for a scornful scrutiny. A Mansard roof 
in warped wood that needs painting, is a sight to 
make aesthetic angels weep. She refused to see the 
softening touch of rose-vines on the porch, or the 
geraniums staring brightly from the living-room 
window. All she wished now was to have this last 
battle ended. 

She swept up the cracked, cemented walk, a grey 
wraith of determination. First she looked into the 
living-room. The old faded rocker was empty, and 


368 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


a shaft of afternoon sun fell across the crocheted 
“ tidy ” on the back, and lost itself in an open work- 
basket, heaped with John’s socks. A China egg 
rounded the heel of one of them, and on the upper 
surface was stuck a large darning-needle, with a trail 
of silken floss. She moved across the floor in the 
direction of the kitchen. A patter of light footsteps 
coming nearer, made her pause. John’s mother, her 
spectacles pushed upward, and a black silk sewing 
apron shielding her grey skirt, swung back the pan- 
try door. At sight of Inez she started. “ Mercy ! 
What a fright you gave me, Inez ! I didn’t know you 
had come back,” she laughed. 

“ I ’ave onlee just now come back. Are you very 
busy, Mrs. Hemingway.? I wish to talk wid you.” 

“ Why, no. I’m not busy at all, if you don’t 
mind my going on with these socks,” answered the 
old lady, in a pleased voice. “ And even if I wa>s 
busy,” she added, with the little shy, humorous 
twinkle Inez had begun to know so well, ‘‘ I’d stop 
anything to talk about John. Of course it’s ^bout 
John.” 

‘‘Not onlee my Jean, — but myself, — this time,” 
said Inez. 

“ That’s even better! ” Mrs. Hemingway ex- 
claimed, leading the way across the room. “ Do you 
know, Inez, I’ve been hoping that you would want 
to talk a little more about yourself, — like real 
mother and daughter. I — I — don’t like to seem 
curious, — or have you think I wanted to question 


A SILVER LINING 


369 


you,” she went on with a hint of nervousness, as she 
prepared to take her accustomed seat. “ It’s only 
— affection. Apart from John, my dear, — I have 
come to love you very dearly.” 

‘‘You are most kind — ” began Inez, in a con- 
strained manner, when the old lady, having heard 
something in her apron-pocket rustle, sprang quickly 
to her feet. 

“ How could I have forgotten,” she cried, in self- 
reproach. “ Here’s a telegram that came not five 
minutes ago from John.” She held the yellow slip 
out, in fingers that trembled with eagerness. 

Inez, taking it, read at a single glance. “ Will 
be home to supper. Everything went splendidly. 
Dear love to my sweetheart. John.” 

“ That’s the reason I was in the kitchen,” ex- 
plained the old lady. “ I wanted to help Molly with 
one of those Marlborough puddings John likes so 
much. Molly doesn’t always get it exactly right.” 
She seated herself contentedly, stooping sidewise for 
her darning. 

“ Socks — puddings — servants ! Such things 
hang the horizon of this woman,” thought Inez to 
herself. “ She will surely be as narrow as the rest.” 

“ Oh, I should have placed a comfortable chair 
for you ! ” now cried the elder lady, looking up in 
some surprise at Inez’ continued silence. 

“No — no ! ” protested the other. “ I weel fetch 
one for myself.” With a single impatient gesture 
she reached out and, twirling a straight-backed chair 


370 THE STRANGE WOMAN 

from its place against the wall, sat down, facing the 
rocker. 

I’m sure that’s not comfortable,” deprecated 
Mrs. Hemingway. 

“ It does not matter. I can speak as well from 
this,” declared Inez with a hint of irritation. 

The old lady, realising at last the presence of 
something surcharged and unusual, looked through 
her spectacles into the lovely, storm-tossed face. 

“ How bright your eyes are, Inez ! And your 
cheeks are as pink, — as pink — But metaphor 
failed her, and she ended with the impulsive ex- 
clamation, ‘‘ I just wish John could see you! ” She 
gazed for a moment longer, her sweet old face beam- 
ing with naive delight, then bent down to her darn- 
ing. 

“ I have often thought, during this past week,” 
she continued placidly, as Inez seemed in no haste 
to begin, what a wonderful gift beauty is. Just 
by being yourself, to be able to give pleasure to 
every one around you! Now I was never what 
you’d call real pretty, not even when I was young. 
My! how I used to long to be pretty. I even used 
to say my prayers for it.” She paused, shaking 
her grey head and sighing to recall such youthful 
vanity, but her smile was deeper than her sigh. 
“ Of course,” she added, a little shyly, “ John’s 
father thought I was 5W^^-looking.” Here a tinge 
of pink crept into the faded cheek. “ But that’s 
different. I never realised, till you came here, that 


A SILVER LINING 371 

a woman’s face could be like a beautiful spring morn- 
ing, or a vase of roses that do not fade.” 

“ You are beautiful now, you mother of my 
Jean,” cried Inez. “ It is the gentle spirit shining 
through that makes, and will keep you so.” 

‘‘Now — now, my dear,” fluttered the elder 
woman, in pleased embarrassment. “ I wasn’t fish- 
ing for compliments. I am an old, old lady. But 
if you and John still think me sweet-looking — 
Why, where is Charlie Abbey,” she exclaimed, thank- 
ful to turn the conversation from herself. “ Didn’t 
he come back with you? ” She looked hurriedly 
about the room as if suspecting Inez of having con- 
cealed him. 

Inez recalled the unlovely present with a start. 
“ He did not return with me,” she answered, her 
face growing dark. “ I did not wish him to come 
back. What I have to say is for you alone.” The 
vibrant excitement in her voice was unmistakable. 

Mrs. Hemingway slowly drew out her needle, 
trailing a long back thread. 

“I have just come, — as pairhaps you already 
realise, — from the ’ome of Meeses Abbee. Sharlee 
accompanied me.” 

The listener gave a slight start, but, wisely, she 
said nothing. 

“ You weel pairhaps wonder at my going to dat 
’ouse, — yes ? ” dashed on Inez, her English blur- 
ring, as usual, in the vehemence of her speech. “ It 
was undeegnified — gauche — that anything should 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


S72 

take me to dat ’ouse when she — ” The impetuous 
words halted. It was difficult to find a phrase in 
which to state the personal affront. 

You may be sure that I shall not wonder or 
criticise anything that you do, Inez,” was the gentle 
rejoinder. ‘‘You are my guest, and the woman 
who is to be my dear son’s wife.” 

“ They ’ave been to me unkind, — ungenerous, — 
detestable! these people of your leetle town ! ” cried 
Inez, feeling a strange relief in thus voicing her 
pent-up indignation. “Forgive me dat I must say 
such t’ings, — but I ’ave cause.” 

“ I know it well, my dear,” said the old lady, 
sadly. 

“ Of course I am different from dem 1 My whole 
life ’as been different. I do not ’ave their thoughts ! 
Mon Dieu! I do not wish such thoughts, — so nar- 
row, — so mean, so ’ippocritical ! Eeef they not like 
me, — well, there is no ’arm in dat ! ” commented 
Inez, with a shrug and gesture straight from Paris. 
“ But dat deed not satisfy such peoples, — no ! They 
mus’ whisper and spy. They mus’ band demselves 
together against me for de making of great troubles. 
They ’eld meetings, — always in de libraree of dat 
shrivel-hearted Meeses Abbee, — wid her collection 
of virgins on de walls ! ” 

At the tone of scorn, Mrs. Hemingway laughed 
softly. 

“ De beegest meeting was dis day, — when dey 
had ’eard my Jean was lef’ me. De cowards — all 


A SILVER LINING 


373 


of dem! But Sharlee is our frien’. Sharlee has 
told me. And when he say to-day of dis beeg meet- 
ing, I answer Sharlee, — ‘ Sharlee, eef you ’ave de 
courage to accompany, — I weel go now, and face 
dem all ! ’ ” 

The darning egg fell with a thud. Mrs. Heming- 
way could not restrain a single, frightened breath, 
then, all at once, her face quivered into a thousand 
tiny wrinkles of admiration. 

You did? You splendid girl ! ” 

‘‘ It was not so much to defend myself,” Inez went 
on more quietly, her eyes softening under this some- 
what unexpected sympathy. ‘‘ It was not, eeder, 
for the sake of my Jean. We are both yong, — we 
could well defy them. But when I heard that their 
plan was to come to you, — to my Jean’s mother, 
here in her very ’ome, bringing deir scandals to turn 
your heart and mind against me — Den — ” an 
eloquent silence finished the sentence. 

The old lady deliberately drew out another thread. 
“ If they had come,” she remarked, “ I think they 
would have had their pains for nothing.” 

Inez stared. “But, — why.?^ ’Ow.? You couldn’t 
have kept them out.” 

“ Perhaps not, — but I could have refused to lis- 
ten.” 

“ They would not let you refuse ! ” asseverated 
Inez, her excitement flaring up. “ You do not know 
dose peoples. Dey are like Weetch Burners. Dey 
would ’ave forced demselves upon you. It is not 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


674 

only women, no! De fat leetle minister is wid dem, 
and the long Elder Droppings, and, worse of dem 
all, — de wide, red faced bullee, Walter ’Eming- 
way.” 

“ I should have found a way to stop them,” re- 
iterated the other, with a confident nod. 

Inez gazed at her in amazement. Was this in- 
deed the neutral-tinted housewife she had known? 
In the silence, the old lady gave two sharp taps with 
her thimble on the shrouded egg. 

Inez jumped. 

“ I have kept friends with all the folks here in 
Delphi,” the placid voice pursued. “ It was best 
for J ohn that we should have good friends. But — 
I have not been blind.” 

After a long pause in which Inez remained, ap- 
parently, incapable of speech, the other said, “ Yes, 
they have been good friends and neighbours ; yet by 
this time I should think they would realise that I 
have never let anybody else’s opinion weigh with me 
when it came to what I felt was best for John. You 
never heard such an outcry as there was when I de- 
cided to send him to a Chicago school instead of 
the high school here at Delphi.” She smiled rem- 
iniscently. “ And when we sold the old farm so he 
could study architecture in Paris! ” Here the 
speaker laughed outright, flinging up both hands by 
way of emphasis. From the right one dangled the 
almost-mended sock. 

But tell me,” she now urged, changing her key 


A SILVER LINING 


375 


to one of present interest. “ What sort of things 
did you say to Mrs. Abbey? I’m really curious to 
hear.” 

“ What didn’t I say ? ” cried Inez, her face glow- 
ing with reflected smiles. Then again she remem- 
bered what was to come. The brightness vanished 
like a suddenly extinguished flame. The sombre, 
hunted look crept back. 

“ There, — there,” said the old lady quickly. It 
does not matter. I should never have asked. Of 
course you don’t want to recall so soon what must 
have been a trying ordeal.” 

‘‘ I do not care for that,” was the slow response. 
“ It is too recent for forgetting and, — besides, what 
I went there to do, I did, I silenced them; but the 
victoree was one of which I am not proud.” 

She hesitated, and after a moment rose, and began 
to move restlessly about the room. 

Mrs. Hemingway was putting the last stitch in 
a sock. She held it up, turning it this way 
and that, to see if the interlacing threads were 
smooth. 

“ What I said to dem was necessary,” Inez went 
on gloomily. “ And what I now mus’ say to you 
is necessary, — but I shrink, because my words will 
’urt you.” 

Can you be sure then, that it is necessary?” 
questioned the old lady artlessly, as she folded the 
sock, and laid it on the top of a neat pile of its 
fellows. 


376 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


I am quite sure. Please, you will listen. Two 
years ago, in Paris, I wrote a book.” 

Yes, dear.” 

‘‘ You have never seen my book, — or heard of 
it.?” 

“ Why, no ! ” The gentle, brown eyes looked up 
in astonishment. “ I wonder why John — ” 

‘‘ You will soon know dat,” Inez broke in, with 
a bitter laugh. He did not wish hees good mother 
to hear of it. Ah, now I see, too clearly, dat even 
in dat time, my Jean was faint-hearted in upholding 
me. But now — ” she flung round suddenly, her 
whole manner instinct with defiance. “ Now you 
are to hear — That book was written to state my 
disbelief in marriage, — dat wicked screen of cruelty 
and vice which modern societee is so anxious to pre- 
serve.” 

Standing straight and tall beside the seated 
figure, she now threw down a quick glance. Mrs. 
Hemingway, her hands folded in her lap, remained 
as motionless as Whistler’s mother in her painted 
chair. 

It shocks you, yes ? as it weel shock all good, 
conventional women who have never known the touch 
of the branding iron. But 1 have known ! There- 
fore I take my stand and say to all that I believe a 
bondage which can be used in such a way, is, of it- 
self, evil.” 

“ Poor child. Poor unhappy child,” the old lady 
whispered, her eyes filling with the slow tears of 


A SILVER LINING 377 

age. How you must have suffered to make you 
feel like this.” 

‘‘Yes, I ’ave suffered, — but it is now all past,” 
declared Inez, with a vibration of resentment in her 
voice. Something untamed within her flinched at 
the obvious compassion. “ An’ because I have suf- 
fered, — I came to believe it my duty to all other 
women, that I should try to keep them from stum- 
bling into the same pit of fire.” 

“ Then it is this book of yours that Mrs. Abbey 
and — the others — ?” the old lady began, in 
tremulous questioning; but her voice broke, and she 
could not finish. 

“ Mais oui"' shrugged Inez, lightly. “ What 
else? Not only ’ave they read, — they ’ave glutted 
in it, seeing obscenity, where there was none at all, 
— smacking their lips over situations created by 
deir own prurient minds. All of such passages are 
marked ; and it is this weapon against me which they 
weel bring to you.” 

“Of — Of — course John knows of your 
book — ” The mother ventured, but the tone was 
so uncertain, so utterly unlike her usual placid 
speech, that Inez could not be sure whether the words 
were meant as a query, or the despairing statement 
of a fact. In either case she had something to re- 
tort. 

“ My Jean? ” she echoed. “ Does he know? He 
’elped me to write it ! ” 

Her head was still high, and under disdainfully 


378 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


lowered lids she watched the poisoned arrows strike. 
It was as if demons possessed her. She felt no pity, 
no remorse. The strong shudder, as of fear, that 
now made the woman before her grasp tightly the 
two arms of her chair, evoked only a thrill of malig- 
nant triumph. 

‘‘ From de first,” the clear, relentless voice went 
on, “ your son was made aware of my attitude 
toward conventional marriage. W’en first I saw 
that he was beginning to love me, I told him every- 
thing.” 

‘‘ Surely — surely,''^ gasped the white lips of the 
mother, “ my boy — ” 

“ I onderstan’,” interrupted the other with a 
scornful little laugh. “ Be comforted. At de first 
your boy was entirelee ’orrified. He said to me 
things dat would have pleased even Meeses Abbee. 
But dat, it was at de first. In good time, — ” 
she emphasised, with deliberate cruelty, “ an’ dat 
time was not so long — de Delphi training fell 
away from him, and my Jean believed as I be- 
lieve.” 

Mrs. Hemingway covered her face, then, throw- 
ing out both hands she cried, with broken vehe- 
mence, “ I cannot be mistaken. You love my son.” 

“ Certainment do I love your son,” answered Inez, 
lifting her delicate brows, “ but I ’ave said to him 
that I do not care to be branded, even with his name, 
or to be bound to him wid legal handcuffs dat we 
do not need.” 


A SILVER LINING 


379 


Let me try to understand you more clearly,” 
said the old lady, sitting erect with a piteous effort 
after self-control. “ This, then, is the reason you 
have not married earlier.'^ You and John intend 
to live together without, — without — ? Is that 
it.?” 

‘‘ Exactlee.” 

‘‘ And before you took the step, — before you 
would make it public, you came here to his home, — 
meeting his people, — winning the heart of his 
mother.? ” 

“We thought it best, Mrs. ’Emingway, and also 
kinder. I am sorry if you feel it was wrong. No 
insult to you was intended.” 

“ Oh, my deavy' expostulated the other, eagerly. 
“ Don’t mistake me ! I am only too thankful that 
you came. It will make things easier for John, — 
afterward. I wasn’t thinking of myself, at all.” 

“ You never are, — and it is for that reason you 
are defeating me, — inch by inch,” was on Inez’ 
tongue to exclaim, but she bit the words back, and 
in the place of them asked with forced indifference, 
“ Am I to onderstan’ then, that, in spite of this 
dreadful thing he intends doing, you weel not cast 
off your son.? ” 

The swift, upward look was full of wonder. “ If 
you had ever borne a child, my dear, you would not 
have asked that question.” 

“ Then for me! ” Inez challenged, harshly. “ For 
de Strange Woman who has brought dis shame to 


380 


THE STRANGE WOMAN 


you an’ yours, — always you weel hate me, — yes ? ” 

“ Not while you love my boy.” 

Suddenly one of the white-gloved hands went up 
to a swelling throat. Inez pressed hard. ‘‘ I will 
not yield, not yet, not quite yet,” she was telling 
her good angel, fiercely. “ Let me prove a little 
further, this wonderful mother-love which, without 
knowing it, has shattered the citadel of my pride.” 

In the sharp, silent struggle, the old lady, hope- 
less, and without warning of the glory soon to shine, 
began to fumble blindly for a pocket handkerchief. 
There was none in either pocket of her apron, and 
none in the basket so hastily tumbled. Finally she 
took up one of John’s socks and held it first against 
one streaming eye, and then the other. Inez glanc- 
ing down, caught sight of her. The last reserve 
gave way. 

“ Mother ! ” she cried, in a voice that was like the 
bursting of a star. “ Those are the things I held 
to before I came. You have taught me a higher 
law than that of personal development.” In her ve- 
hemence she knelt, facing the small grey figure. Her 
cloak, in the swift motion, rippled to the floor. 

“I — I — taught you,” the old lady stammered. 
“ Why, Inez, — why, my dear, — I shouldn’t have 
dared to say a word to a woman so smart, — so bril- 
liant as you are — ” 

“ You didn’t ^wve to say de word,” cried Inez, 
laughing a little hysterically, as she flung her arms 
out, drawing the little figure close. “ You ’ad only 


A SILVER LINING 


381 


to he , — and lo! the Strange Woman lies dead at 
your patient feet, — and in her place is — 

My daughter, — my son’s wife, — Inez Hem- 
ingway,” whispered the older lips. 

For an instant they clung together, then the old 
lady, with an air of motherly solicitude, stooped 
past the bowed shoulders and gathered the grey wrap 
from the floor. 

‘‘ Don’t cry so, my darling,” she pleaded. 
‘‘ Everything has come right. Why, how you are 
shivering! Let me put your pretty wrap about 
your neck. And what lovely stuff it is,” she paused 
to say, drawing the exquisite fabric through hands 
that trembled now with happiness. ‘‘ Such pretty 
stuff. What is it ? ” 

Sack-clot’,” sobbed Inez, brokenly. 

“ /SacAr-cloth ? ” repeated the other. “ What 
funny names they do get up for new materials ! ” 
Then, all at once she understood, and, without 
speech, leaned down, pressing the white rose of her 
face against her daughter’s tear-wet cheek. 








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